The Painter
by Devildream69
Summary: Andy Sachs Goldman is a celebrated painter. Two years ago she dropped off the grid entirely. But now she is back in the public eye. Miranda Priestly meets her at the Benefit and is asked to sit for a portrait. Miranda accepts much to Andy's surprise. But will Andy's past come back to haunt them?
1. Part 1: Our Little Gathering

The Painter

Part 1: Our Little Gathering

"Painters must speak through paint, not with words."

-Hans Hofmann

Andy was beyond ready to leave. How much longer would they have to stay?

She'd been there for about two hours, talking about things she didn't give a damn about and smiling like some masochistic Barbie doll the entire time.

She glanced around to find her husband in the crowd and waved at him to come over. He waved back feigning incomprehension, and smiled with that politically correct smile of his. All American, all capitalist, all stereotypical rich republican white man.

Sometimes she wondered why she even bothered to smile back. Three years into their marriage and already there was discord. She would have left him by now if it weren't for-

"Andy darling, how is Henry doing with his latest investment in Valentino's new perfume advertisements?" the man standing beside her asked, his round glasses perched on his nose quizzically.

Andy smiled, and turned to speak to the bald man beside her, whose name she slipped her mind for a moment— Nigel Kipling, she thought his name was. The senior assistant editor of whatever at Runway magazine.

"Wonderful of course. Valentino is always a good investment." She replied, wondering how much longer she would have to pretend to be interested in this conversation.

"Excellent. It truly was a fabulous season. And I must say, your dress is just lovely. This season's Chanel. Perfect choice as always."

"You flatter me." Repressing the urge to roll her eyes, she looked at the glass of champagne in her hand and considered taking a sip, then thought better of it.

"Not at all." He said, trying to seem sincere. Andy had long learned to see past false sincerity. Someone behind her caught his eye. He waved at the person he was no doubt about to speak to about something far more interesting, and murmured an absentminded good bye.

She supressed the need to groan. Her shoes were killing her and her feet would not forgive her in the morning. Andy fiddled with the ridiculously expensive marriage ring on her finger, feeling how loose it was sitting there like a chain, rattling around, waiting to fall off. She'd have to get it adjusted again. She'd have to tell Lily to remember to set an appointment with the jeweller.

A murmur rushed through the crowd and a few gasps from nearby guests attracted her attention. And clearly, someone had caught their attention. Who could it be?

She followed their looks of awe to the grand stair case, where a regal, white haired woman with striking blue eyes was gliding down the steps to the ballroom floor.

She heard the answer to her earlier question murmured across the throng of glittering false smiles. Miranda Priestly. The indisputable iron fist of the fashion world.

Even Andy, who cared little about fashion, knew who she was. She'd just never seen her in person before. Andy had heard rumors of her strict work ethic, whispers of sub-zero temperatures, the Devil in Prada, the Snow Queen, a nickname that had apparently become well deserved.

She had to admit those blue grey eyes must be truly terrifying when furious.

Her hand began to tingle, almost like an itch she couldn't get rid of. She wanted to paint. More specifically she wanted to paint this woman. She wanted to spend hours getting the colours right for those eyes, to work till she could barely think about anything else. She clenched her fingers in a fist.

She knew she was staring but couldn't bring herself to care enough to stop. It had been a long time since anyone had caught her artist's eye like this woman had.

"I know _that_ look." She jumped, startled, not having realised her husband had come up behind her. "Who is it this time?" He asked, his face too close for comfort. His breath smelled like too much whisky and cigarettes.

"Henry, god you scared me." She quickly unclenched her hand and looked away from Miranda, hoping he hadn't really noticed who had caught her attention.

"Oh, sorry." He didn't look the least bit apologetic.

He peered around the room trying to find the person who had sparked her interest.

"Ah." He smirked knowingly. Damn, he'd noticed. "Miranda Priestly. I should have known she'd be the one to catch your eye."

More like the other way around. It was Miranda's eyes that had caught her, after all. She sighed and nodded.

"It's not as though I could do anything about it." She hated how defensive she sounded. She shouldn't have to justify herself to him.

"Ask her."

Andy raised her eyebrows in incredulity. He said that as though it were the simplest thing in the world.

"What do you expect me to do? Waltz up to her and just ask her if I can paint her?" Not bloody likely to go down well if the rumors were true, no matter how much Andy wished she could.

He raised an eyebrow as if to ask 'Why not?' She rolled her eyes at him impatiently.

"Henry, we haven't even met. If we had, things might but different, but—"

"Well then we'll have to remedy that situation don't you think? And here is our chance." The people Miranda had just been speaking to were leaving, after greeting their hostess as was polite.

"You can't be serious—" she tried to say, "_Henry!_" Andy exclaimed.

Henry had waved at the white haired woman before Andy could stop him. Miranda smiled back, with a vacant look in her eyes. For an insane moment, Andy wondered if Miranda was just as bored as she was.

Henry guided them over, putting a possessive hand on her hip. She flicked a glare at him to let him know his gesture was entirely unappreciated and unnecessary. He released his grip on her after noticing her displeasure.

She watched, enraptured, as Miranda tilted her head to the side, her pale neck at an elegant angle, almost demure yet sharp in its appearance. Her long silver earrings played around her shoulders, and the light flickers through them, refracting in the topaz stones. She was listening, no doubt, to her ever present assistants informing her of who was approaching. The red head behind her stuttered, clearly at a loss, and a blonde girl stepped forward to fill in the blank of the names the desperate red head was searching for.

She had a moment to take a breath before they were standing in front of Miranda Priestly herself. Andy couldn't help but feel a bit intimidated.

"Henry, we're so glad you could make it to our little gathering," Miranda smiled blandly. Clearly, Andy's husband's reputation for boring conversation, preceded them. "How are things at Goldman Sachs and Co.?"

He practically puffed out his chest with pride, as he said, "Swimmingly of course. We've just secured another merger, this time with Warner's people."

"How delightful." She gave him a placating smile, "Now, I've been remise in my manners. I don't believe we've met…?" It took a second for her to realise Miranda was speaking to her.

"Andy, er—" she stuttered, "That is, my name is Andrea but everyone calls me Andy." She shut her eyes, and winced in utter mortification at her inability to answer a simple question. She opened her eyes to see the silver haired woman's mouth twitch at the right corner, trying not to sneer at her.

Andy took a deep breath and tried again. "Andrea Sachs Goldman" She managed, noticing the slight tremor in her voice. She supressed a cringe but leaned in for an air kiss which Miranda reciprocated, without any further incident.

"Andrea." The way Miranda said her name was different than the way she'd said it. She'd never heard anyone say it that way before. It sounded almost exotic. She liked it.

"Actually Miranda," Henry began with what she supposed he thought was a dashing smile but looked like a leer more than anything, "Henry please we really should—" she tried to interrupt him.

Undeterred he continued. "My wife was wondering if you had any interest in having a portrait done."

An awkward, if vaguely curious smile was Miranda's reply to the proposition.

"Henry!" Andy glared at him in annoyance, "Please, forgive my husband. He can be very direct when he set his mind on something."

The smile became almost predatory when she replied, "You are an artist? Have I heard of you?"

"I— Yes. Well, probably. You might know my pseudonym better. A.S Goldman."

She watched Miranda frown for an instant, and then recollection dawned. "Ah, yes, I think Vanity Chair did a blurb on your Gallery 3 years ago in Paris. Remind me what your genre is again?" Miranda asked.

"Watercolor portraits." She said hoping the editor would let the subject drop.

"Portraits, really? And who have you painted recently?" she asked.

"Recently, not very many." Andy said evasively. "Two years ago I painted Catherine Zeta Jones, Emily Blunt, Helene Mirren and a few others."

Miranda quirked an eyebrow and her eyes flickered with what Andy thought might be interest.

Those blue grey eyes look her up and down appraisingly, as if seeing her truly for the first time.

"We're holding a grand opening for Andy's new gallery on Columbus Avenue on the 21ist." Henry said, sticking his foot in his mouth as per usual. Andy tried very hard not to elbow her husband in the ribs. "We'd be very glad if you'd come by, if you have the time."

"Perhaps." She murmured, non-committal, with a falsely bright smile. Miranda looked over Henry's shoulder and waved at someone behind them. Andy turned to see Irving Ravitz, chairman of Elias-Clarke, coming over with Jaqueline Follet.

"Irv, my dear man! How have you been keeping? It's been far too long." Henry enthused with his ever present Ken doll smile.

"Henry Goldman, I haven't seen you in a dog's age." Irv declared, trying to appear pleased to see him again, "And this I take it, is your lovely wife. Mrs. Sachs Goldman. You've done well for yourself or so I hear, Henry." Andrea tried not bristle at being talked about like an object. She looked Irving Ravitz up and down with an annoyed glance and decided immediately she didn't like the man. From the corner of her eye she saw Miranda watching her.

Jacqueline's smile was polite if a bit feral looking, as Irv introduced her to Andrea.

"You're the artist everyone was excited about seeing earlier aren't you?" Jacqueline asked in her raspy French accent.

"Excited about seeing me here?" Andy asked perplexed. She hadn't hear any such thing. Compliments certainly but actually wanting to see her after 2 years out of the public eye was a bit excessive—

"Hey! When do we eat?!" Called out an obnoxiously loud voice. Many people turned to look and see who it was.

Andy noticed Miranda go white, seeing a man in his late fifties approach, empty scotch glass in hand, clearly inebriated.

"Darling, there you are." Miranda murmured, with a worried smile, approaching him quickly. She was undoubtedly trying to avoid a scene.

"Yeah, it's been a banner evening. Three people didn't recognize me, one called me Mr. Priestly, and now the damn bartender won't even serve me." Miranda winced, although Andy didn't think anyone else noticed seeing as she kept smiling, trying to placate this man who was clearly her husband. Miranda Priestly seemed to be very good at hiding her emotions, Andy noted.

"Hey, why don't you get me another drink," Miranda's husband said, speaking to Irv Ravitz, "He'd have to listen to you eh little guy?"

Andy watched as Irv's face darkened with indignation. At that moment Andy knew things were going to get ugly if someone didn't break the tension. Seeing as she was the closest one standing to Irv, she decided to act.

She deliberately dropped her champagne glass, letting it shatter on the marble floor, like so much trash.

Miranda managed to step away from the mess it made just in time, but her husband wasn't so lucky. It spilled all over his shoes.

He cussed loudly, and glared at Andy who simply gave him her best puppy dog eyes.

"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry!" Andy exclaimed, pretending to be worried.

A nearby server quickly arrived and cleaned up the mess. All the while Andy continued to apologise profusely to Miranda's husband.

"What a klutz! Damn. My shoes are soaked." He glared once again, but Andy was unfazed. Her father's glare had made her immune to the 'big macho man angry look' men seemed to think worked so well on women.

"Stephen, darling, I think you had better head home. You can't spend the rest of the party in soaked shoes. Let me call the car." Miranda said with a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. To everyone's relief, Stephen was shepherded away without much trouble.

After everything had been put to rights once again, the atmosphere had turned awkward and it was clearly time to leave. Suddenly, Andy got another idea. Spotting John Foldgier, the new artistic director at Chelsea Radburn she smiled at her husband.

"Henry why don't you and Irv and Jacqueline ask John about those stocks you were talking about earlier. I'm sure he'd know the answers to your questions."

Blessedly, Henry took the hint and led Irv away, with Jacqueline in tow, talking his ear off about the latest merger once more.

Suddenly, Andy was acutely aware that she was left alone with Miranda.

"Thank you." Miranda murmured, much to Andy's surprise.

Andy decided to play innocent. "For what?" she asked coquettishly.

Miranda looked at her knowingly. She had clearly not been so easily deceived by Andy's maneuver.

"You're welcome." She muttered under her breath.

"Why did you do it?" Miranda asked just as quietly.

"I've dealt with my share of drunken husbands before." She paused and looked around the ball room, feeling very tired of the fake smiles and dreary conversation. "I think I'll go get myself another drink." She said to get away from the conversation.

"You shouldn't drink." Miranda looked her up and down, her gaze stopping at Andy's middle. "How far along are you?"

Andy gapped at her. How had she noticed? Not even Henry knew yet.

"What makes you say that? Because I'm not a size 0?" She said trying to pretend to be indignant but still keep the conversation light.

"You had that glass for the longest time and yet it was still full when you dropped it." Andy looked away again feeling self-conscious. This woman was truly observant. No wonder she was a force to be reckoned with.

"You haven't told him yet." She said looking her up and down once more. Those eyes really were piercing when they were intent on something, Andy noted.

"I think that's up to—"

"No, no that wasn't a question." Miranda said cutting her off.

Andy didn't reply.

"Never mind, it's of no great consequence to me. Make an appointment with Emily, shall we say, Sunday at 3pm?"

"Appointment for what?" Andy asked stunned by the sudden shift in conversations.

"For my portrait of course." Andrea's mouth fell open, quite unattractively causing the other woman to smirk.

"I will see you then Andrea." And with that, Miranda glided off to another circle of people, with a distraught looking redhead and a stressed out blonde following in her wake.

Andy stood watching her for a moment longer before rejoining her husband.

Yes, Miranda Priestly would certainly be and interesting subject to paint, Andy could already tell.

- To be Continued-

(A/n: Please remember to comment!)


	2. Part 2: Finding the Spark

The Painter

Part 2: Finding the Spark

__

"There is, I am convinced, no picture that conveys in all its dreadfulness, a vision of sorrow, despairing, remediless, supreme. If I could paint such a picture, the canvas would show only a woman looking down at her empty arms." - Charlotte Brontë  


The shrill ringing of her phone woke Andy up at the ungodly hour of 5:45am on Sunday morning.

"'Ello?" she answered still half asleep.

"There has been a change of plans." The voice of a very alert British red head said.

"Who on earth—?" Henry asked groggily and Andrea groaned and got up to take the call in the next room.

"Miranda will be there at precisely seven o'clock this morning—"

"Emily…." Andy tried to interrupt the British woman who was obviously in a tizzy about the apparent last minute change of plans.

"—seeing as the Chairman decided to wait until yesterday afternoon to announce that the board meeting would be held at 3pm on a Sunday. Therefore please accept our sincere apologies and-"

The Brit seemed to not have heard her so she repeated, "_Emily._"

"Yes, what is it?" The Brit asked sharply on the other end of the phone.

"I can't this morning. I have a doctor's appointment. It's important and I really can't cancel it. So please don't go through all that trouble and ask Miranda what day next week would be better for her and we'll see what we can manage. Now, I'm going to hang up and go back to sleep."

The Brit had the gall to try and protest but Andy was having none of that. "And so help me god if you call back and start ranting again I will make sure Valentino never lets you wear anything he made again _ever._ Am I clear?"

She heard the Brit gasp and then gulp audibly. "Crystal."

"Good and Emily?"

"Yes?"

"Don't ever call at such an obscenely early hour again. It really is bad manners. Have a nice day." Andy said in a quiet, sickly sweet voice.

She hung up without waiting for any reply. 5:48am on a Sunday. Ridiculous.

Andy went back to the room and crawled back into bed and tried to get back to sleep, despite already dreading her doctor's appointment. 

* * *

At 6:45am on the dot, another phone call woke Andy up. She picked up the phone groaning in annoyance.

"This doctor's appointment can't be postponed?" The cold, unforgettable and very irate voice of Miranda Priestly asked on the other end of the phone.

"Good morning Miranda."

"A good morning it is not." Miranda snapped.

"Your right it's not." Andy agreed, piqued now, "I keep getting calls from people far too early in the morning. I must be living in New-York or something."

"I asked you a question."

"No it can't. I really can't put it off any longer. If you had been able to come at 3pm as we'd agreed previously that would have been fine but—"

"Next Wednesday at 5pm."

"See you then." She could almost hear Miranda roll her eyes at Andy's falsely cheery voice.

She heard a click and realised Miranda had hung up.

Andy hmph'd at the phone in her hand. Till next Wednesday then. 

* * *

Andy came back from the appointment, with only one thought in mind.

Getting the right color for the eyes. Those damnable, hypnotising, piercing blue eyes.

Andy sat down at her atelier and began to paint immediately. She mixed blues after blues together with greys, whites, and every color she could think of and still she was having trouble with finding the exact color of the eyes she had stuck in her mind.

A grey blue shade, the color of ice itself.

She spent the better part of the morning trying again and again. Frustrated, after hours of no success, she decided to give up and cleaned up her paints and brushes briskly.

She needed the live subject here or else she was sure she'd never get it right.

So instead she sketched Miranda's face, her profile, different angles, her smile, her curious expression, her cold indifference. By the time the sun was going down and she had at least a dozen different sketches of the woman whose face, voice and eyes she could not get out of her head.

She hung the drawings on the walls of her studio and was thankful for her husband's absence seeing as he would have probably forced her to stop and eat dinner.

She couldn't stop. It was unthinkable to her to stop working.

The need to draw and paint this woman was overwhelming to her. Something about her face, her mannerism, her elegance, the angle of her neck, the spark in her direct gaze as she spoke to you. All of that and more drew Andy in like a moth to flame.

As was her habit with every new subject, she began to do a thorough Wikipedia background check on Miranda Priestly on her computer. She printed images off of google and used them as temporary subjects.

Some hours later, a knock on the door and a dim awareness that the windows were now dark appeared in her mind.

"You aren't in bed yet?" Henry's voice said from the door behind her.

"Obviously not." She answered distractedly, but her tone implied no real sense of meanness, simply a distracted voice as though she was barely aware she'd said it.

"There is something bothering you. There has been for the past few weeks, I can tell. Won't you tell me?" Henry asked.

Andy made her chair swivel around to face her husband who was standing in the door frame.

"I'm pregnant." She murmured, her eyes shut tight, braced for the reaction. The tense silence that followed was so thick she could have cut the air with a knife.

"Andy, are you sure?" he asked, his words stilted.

"Yes."

Oh yes. She was sure. 100% sure. She could practically hear him thinking, _'Not again. Oh god not again.'_ In fact she was almost certain she could hear him thinking it, especially seeing as she too had thought those words a thousand times over since this morning.

"How far along are you?" His voice was filled with a strained curiosity.

"3 months now."

She watched as he covered his face with his hand, and sighed heavily.

Andy's hand wound unconsciously to her middle. She didn't know if she could bare it if they lost this one too.

"Come to bed. We'll talk more in the morning." Henry held out his hand to her and she stood and took it.

Once both were in bed, and the lights were switched off, the realness of her pregnancy finally washed over Andy.

"I can't lose this one. I won't survive it." She murmured to the dark celling. Henry's hand reached out under the covers and took her own small one in his.

"I know."

Silent tears streaked down the sides of her face and wet the pillowcase beneath her head.

If she lost this child, she would die.

* * *

The doorbell rang at precisely 15 minutes before 5pm, just as Emily had predicted. She thanked god for the British woman's foresight in telling her to expect Miranda to be early for their appointment.

Andy opened the door and swiftly moved out of the small hallway to allow the white haired woman to enter into the flat.

"Hello Miranda, thank you for coming." Andy said in a pleasant voice.

"Andrea," she replied in greeting, using that same accent on her name that she'd used at the benefit. Andy couldn't help the small smile that found its place on her mouth.

Miranda looked her up and down once quickly assessing Andy's appearance. It was a habit of hers apparently. Andy had noticed her doing it at the party each time she had greeted someone.

Miranda removed her black fur coat and Andy took it from her and hung it quickly in her hall closet.

She seemed determined to get right to it and Andy was in a likewise mood.

They were not here to socialise.

"This way please," Andy said.

Andy was undeniably anxious. Her breathing shallow and she could only hope Miranda wouldn't notice. It had been a long time since she'd had a live subject to work with. And something about this woman drew her in.

Andy fidgeted nervously with the long silver necklace she'd decided to wear the night before.

What had prompted Miranda to accept her offer of a portrait? The woman barely knew her, much less her work and yet—here she was.

Andy wondered if she would ever get the answers to that question. 'Probably not' and suppressed a smirk.

She led Miranda down the hall and into the flat towards her studio. The room in question was painted ivory and was decorated with neo-classical accents, a bust of a roman statue, a comfortable brown leather settee, a pair of matching brown leather armchairs, white roses in a vase on her mahogany coffee table, huge floor length windows that had a view over the city around it. Andy's father had suggested the flat for her and Henry when they had come back from their honey moon.

She'd been so young and naïve back then.

Andy suppressed a sigh.

As soon as Andy had set eyes on the studio, she'd accepted. It had become her sanctuary. Only a precious few people had been allowed in. She had filled it with her art hung on the walls, her work table with all her pencils and papers, which was currently buried under sketch upon sketch of Miranda.

Andy watched Miranda, glancing around the room. She didn't appear displeased, but Andy doubted she would ever be able to read this woman's reactions with any basis of accuracy. Miranda was wearing a Thakoon plum coloured sheath which cut smartly across her shoulders accentuating her regal neck and the sharpness of her face.

She wondered, if Miranda had any idea of how truly beautiful she looked in that instant. Andy's eyes traced the lines of her form, in the way she did when appraising a work of art. Much like an architect might look at a building plan, Andy mapped out the shape of Miranda with her artist's eyes.

"What exactly is it that we are doing today?" Miranda asked.

Andy started. She had been caught staring. Shit.

Andy made a mental note; no drifting off into Andy–land with Miranda around. Got it.

"Sorry." Andy muttered as an apology, vaguely embarrassed. Miranda waved her hand dismissively. Alright then. Andy took a deep steadying breath.

"The first thing we should do, is figure out what poses you are most comfortable in for the duration of— oh, say an hour— and then work from there." This time Miranda nodded.

"Where would you like me to be?" Miranda said, looking at Andy for the first time since entering the room. "On the armchair, if that's alright with you. Please make yourself comfortable."

Miranda nodded and did as she was bid.

"Would you like some tea? Coffee maybe?"

"No." She replied continuing to glance around the room.

Andy was getting the distinct impression that Miranda would rather not be here. Her posture was stiff, her manners restrained, and she appeared for all the world like she was reading lines from a book while a gun was being pointed at her. Why on earth was she here if that was how she felt about it?

Andy didn't yet dare ask, sensing that it would be an unwelcome avenue of questioning. It wasn't as though Andy had any right to know such a thing. They weren't friends after all…they were—Andy didn't really know what they were. Business partners maybe?

"Alright then." Andy said, reaching for a sketch pad and pencil, "We'll start with sketches and move on from there."

Miranda nodded absentmindedly. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't that she didn't want to be here. Maybe it was something entirely different bothering her today. Her husband maybe.

Miranda continued to sit with a tense posture and tried to stay as still as possible. Oh no, this wouldn't do at all.

"Miranda—" Andy began, then stopped when she saw the way Miranda looked at her. A look that said, 'Go ahead, question me, I dare you.' Andy wasn't in any way shape or form interested in taking her up on that dare. She rather put her head in a lion cage then face an annoyed Miranda Priestly, if she was being completely honest.

"Yes?" Miranda asked turning to look at her sharply.

Instead of answering, Andy just smiled patiently and decided it would be easier to show her what she wanted than to try and explain it.

Andy walked over to where Miranda was sitting and then reached out hesitantly to just almost touch Miranda's shoulders.

"May I?" Andy asked permission to pose her.

Miranda nodded, appearing surprised by her request. Andy supposed it was a normal reaction for someone like Miranda. Not very many people touched her willingly. She was a very intimidating person after all. Andy doubted, anyone would dare touch her casually.

Andy pressed lightly on Miranda's shoulders until they were lower down, more relaxed. Then she took Miranda's hand and placed it lightly on the arm of the chair. The other, she placed across her lap. Her hands were cool, some small part of Andy's mind noticed.

She tilted Miranda's chin towards the window, brushing her fingers along her jaw. Andy felt her flinch, but did not stop. She knew exactly what she was looking for, and she would brave Miranda's ire to get that perfect pose. The light had to catch her eyes and her white hair just so, to make everything luminous and create the air of 'caught-in-a-moment' that Andy was searching for.

"Are you quite finished?" Miranda glared at Andy, her lips pursed in annoyance.

"Not quite." Andy said, ignoring her annoyance, but making a note for future reference. Miranda didn't appreciate being touched unless absolutely necessary. Ok. Andy could do that.

Then Andy saw, it. That look, that angle of the head, the light in her cold eyes, the way her hair fell across her forehead. Right there. Perfect.

"Freeze right there." Andy murmured.

Miranda as if sensing Andy's urgency, did as she was bid and stood stock still.

Andy rushed back to her easel and sketch pad and began drawing the lines furiously, sketching the outlines and then quickly filling in the detail as she went.

Miranda kept her eyes on Andy, the whole time. This was certainly going better than Andy had imagined it would. She'd been worried Miranda wouldn't be receptive to her directions and would leave, annoyed by her intrusive take on portrait painting.

By the time she was done, a good half hour had passed and Andy had the first sketch done. The look in Miranda's eyes was very striking but also unreadable. It was full of heated emotion but hid everything all at once. Strangely similar to the woman it belonged to, Andy mused.

"Alright," Andy said at last. "Would you like to take a break?"

Miranda seemed to snap out of her reverie and blinked at Andy.

"Yes." Miranda said, in a clipped, slightly rough voice. Miranda stood up slowly and surreptitiously rolled her shoulders back, stretching slightly.

"Water?" Andy offered and instantly regretted it. Great. No of course not, stupid. Shit. If Miranda had wanted water she would have asked for it— instead of the glare Andy had been expecting, Miranda simply nodded again.

Andy left the studio to get a bottle of Perrier and a glass for her, while at the same time, giving her the chance to stretch out without being watched. She got the sense that Miranda was a very private person.

She went back to the studio, glass and bottle in hand. Miranda was standing in front of her easel, looking at the sketch Andy had started. Andy had to stop herself from sighing as she looked at Miranda, enjoying the way her form was silhouetted by the sun going down. She really was elegance made flesh. But then, 'Beauty is in the eye of the beholder', always had run true with Andy.

She'd been told by many people that she saw beauty where few even dared to look for it. Especially in people. Henry had commented that it wasn't the person's appearance that mattered to Andy; if they had a personality Andy found beautiful, she would see it, and attempt to translate that beauty to paper.

"Here you go."

Miranda started and spun around.

"Oh sorry." Andy apologized, slightly abashed that she hadn't made her presence known before speaking.

She needed to be more careful around Miranda. God only knew how many missteps the woman would allow before she got truly fed up an just stormed out like a dragon heading to high dungeon.

"It's fine. Thank you." Miranda said and took the glass of water from her. Andy put the bottle on the coffee table.

"How did your doctor's appointment go?" Miranda surprised her by asking. She wasn't looking at Andy. Why wasn't she looking at her? Was she nervous as well? That seemed unlikely.

"Fine." Andy replied not able to prevent her shoulders from tensing. "It went fine, thank you for asking."

"How far along are you now?"

"About three months." Andy replied trying not to sound terse and failing. She cleared her throat lightly and looked away from Miranda.

"Not quite out of danger then." Miranda said with no small amount of implication

_ '__No,'_ Andy agreed silently. _'Not quite out of danger at all.'_

Andy shook her head even though Miranda couldn't see her.

"Do you like the sketch? Are there any changes you would like for me to make?" Andy dared to ask wondering if she actually wanted Miranda to answer that or not. Maybe it would have been better not to know.

"You have talent." Miranda said, looking back at the sketch. Which did not necessarily mean she liked it, but Andy would take what she could get.

"Thank you. I trained in Flor—"Andy began.

"In Florence. Yes I know." Miranda interrupted her. Andy gaped at her.

"How did you— Emily. Of course. I should have known... What else did she tell you about my past?" Andy asked, now certain she did not care to know the answer.

"Very little." Miranda replied cryptically.

A dragging silence, ensued. Andy watched Miranda. Miranda looked right back at her, her gaze unflinching.

"Right then. Let's get back to work. I'm sure you have appointments after this."

"My daughters have a recital later this evening but otherwise, no, I have no appointments as such Andrea." Miranda replied, nevertheless sitting back down in the armchair, and attempted to turn her head back to where it had been when Andy had placed her.

"Not quite." Andy said, and moved forward to place her once more. Andy thought Miranda would object, but for some reason Andy didn't fully understand, she allowed the touch.

Andy guided her back to the position she needed it to be, her finger on Miranda's jaw once more. She had soft skin, Andy noted absentmindedly. It must be all the products she used. It was no secret that Miranda was nearing 50 after all.

Andy looked at Miranda's face as she adjusted it ever so slightly, mapping out the lines of her face, the slight crease at the corner of her eyes, the angle of her nose in her mind. Creating a labyrinth for Andy to recreate and discover all at once.

"There. Right there." Andy murmured lost in her artist's world.

"What do you see when you draw me Andrea?" Miranda asked, her voice sounding far away, like an echo at the bottom of a well.

"I see you—er, I mean, your outward appearance, of course." Andrea said, pulling her hand away, satisfied with where Miranda was placed.

_'__But that's not what I'm looking for. I'm looking for the spark which shows you're individuality. A piece of your outward appearance that can transmit your humanity to paper. For you, the spark I see is in your eyes.' _Andy thought, returning to her easel.

"Hmph," Miranda glanced at her, careful not to move, but her gaze was searching Andy's face intently, as though the answer she was looking for was hidden there. "Few see that distinction."

Andy pressed her lips into a thin smile. She knew that only too well.

Andy returned to her sketch and began to bring to life once more, the figure of Miranda Priestly. 

* * *

"It's getting to be late." Andy sighed, placing her pencil at the edge of her easel.

"Yes and my daughters' recital will no doubt last till even later," Miranda stood from the armchair and followed Andy down the hall back to the entrance of the loft.

She took her coat when Andrea offered it to her.

They stood at the doorway, neither speaking yet both saying much with the looks they were giving each other.

They were appraising each other, and neither one found the other lacking… _yet_.

This session had gone well. There would be more. That had been settled. They did not dislike one another. Perhaps next time they would be able to maintain the semblance of a conversation.

"Good night Miranda. Enjoy your daughters' recital." Andy said, breaking the silence first.

"Good night." Miranda replied absentmindedly, "Remember to set up another appointment with Emily sometime next week perhaps." She opened the door without waiting for an answer and with only the determined clicking of her heels left behind her, she was gone.

Andy shut the door and leaned her head against its cool wood surface. She took a long shuddering breath. She'd done it. She'd sketched a live subject for the first time in over two years now.

She hadn't had a panic attack, she hadn't been overly stressed, and she'd even managed to keep her cool when Miranda had mentioned her daughters.

She'd done it. Now, to do it all over again next week.

Andy took another deep breath. She checked her watch. Exactly one hour and a half had passed and yet, it had felt much longer.

She wondered briefly, if Miranda had felt the same way. Or if she had enjoyed their short interactions at all. It was unlikely.

After all, based off Andy's research, Miranda was known for her cold behavior towards anyone she considered non-essential or disposable in her life. Andy certainly fit into that category.

She was just a painter. Just another peon Miranda could use to create the chessboard world around her.

She sighed and decided a good cup of tea was in order. Henry would no doubt be home in a few hours, and then Andy would suffer through his pathetic attempt at feigned interest and answer his inane questions with even more inane answers.

But if truth be told, for a moment there, when Andy had touched Miranda's jaw to guide her into place, she felt a tingling sensation in her finger tips which she'd never felt before. A kind of warmth she couldn't have anticipated or imagined.

"What a strange and cold woman." Andy murmured to herself as she headed to her kitchen to set the kettle on to boil.

-To be continued-

(A/n: If you've got the time, I'd love to hear from you. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.)


	3. Part 3: Setting The Stage

The Painter

Part 3: Setting The Stage

_"When we are born, we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools." ― William Shakespeare, King Lear  
_

The phone rang only once before Emily's snooty voice said, "Miranda Priestly office."

"It's Lily Weiss calling. I'm Andrea Sachs Goldman's assistant. I want to set up another appointment for Miranda sometime this week. What time is she available?" Lily said into the phone. Andy who was sitting at the chair opposite to her, at Le Bernadin, had asked her to call to set it up seeing as they were both waiting for their food to arrive.

"Alright, yes, 5pm not this Tuesday, but the next one? The 25th?" She looked at Andy questioningly. Andy nodded her approval to the proposed time. "Yes she has an opening. Alright, thank you. Have a nice evening." Lily replied.

Andy smirked, amused at her usually exuberant assistant's temporary 'politesse d'affair.'

"So," Lily shut her phone and turned back to Andy. "5pm next Tuesday."

"Hmm, yes, if she doesn't have to cancel it and reschedule again." Andy said trying to be objective while still managing to inject a certain amount of annoyance in her tone of voice.

"So how was it?" Lily asked, leaning forward on her elbows. "Working with La Priestly I mean."

"It was…" Andy trailed off. Lily lifted her eyebrows, a question implied in the gesture.

The appointment last week had been fine, yet the atmosphere had been filled with a strange kind of tension. It had unnerved Andy for a few days. She couldn't get Miranda's eyes out of her mind.

"It was fine of course." She replied instead of admitting what was on her mind.

Lily was just an assistant, despite how nicely they got along. They had a strange kind of working relationship, in which Andy was clearly the Alpha. They would have lunch like this together, but it was usually to discuss business. Still, Andy appreciated Lily's work for her. She was efficient at the gallery and helpful without being overbearing.

"Plans for the opening this Friday are coming along smoothly I take it?" Andy asked.

"Yes, everything is going according to schedule… for once." Lily replied grinning. "Good." Andy picked up her fork, "Oh and set up a fitting with the Cartier people, my wedding ring is a bit too loose. It's been bothering me lately."

"Yes Andy." Lily replied automatically.

Andy suppressed another smirk. All her employees reacted to her with the same kind of immediate obedience. They'd learned that she was to be obeyed to with speedy precision or they would lose their job and receive no reference.

She watched from the corner of her eye as Lily glanced at her nervously while picking away at her food.

Good.

Lily knew who was in charge and she also knew she owed Andy respect.

Andy enjoyed the effect she had on people.

* * *

It was raining outside. Of course it was raining. Tonight of all nights.

Pathetic fallacy seemed to follow Andy everywhere she went. Tonight weather had decided to be vaguely dramatic, just as the gallery's opening night was no doubt sure to be.

Tonight was after all, just a long performance by Andy and those she worked with. It was similar to what Andy imagined putting on a play must feel like.

_'The scene is set, the actors know their lines and now all that's left is for the public to arrive,'_ Andy mused, smirking slightly.

The theme, "WHO ARE YOU?" was printed on the pamphlet that would be handed out at the entrance. The attendance of the event itself was by invitation and open to the very paying public. A few of the actual models Andy had had hired for the portraits would be attending, despite it having been two years since the portraits had been done. They had never been exposed before and were by definition, 'new'.

Andy looked about the room, pleased with the concepts her team had come up with. The gallery was a simple large rectangular room, separated in the middle a pane of glass, on which one side was a mirror and the other, a see through glass, like the kind seen in bad cop shows on late night TV.

In between each of the paintings hung on the walls, were floor length mirrors.

The walls themselves were painted wine red on the mirror side and navy blue on the see-through side.

The paintings were particularly interesting because they were hidden behind velvet curtains that matched the color of the walls depending on the side they were on. The viewer had to pull on a cord to expose the painting. Once the cord was released the curtains fell back into place. It had been Andy's idea to hide the paintings, yet leave the mirrors uncovered.

Andy believed it was easier to look at other people and judge them, than it was harder to look at oneself with the same critical eye, hence the exposed mirrors and the hidden canvases, forcing the public too look at themselves and to work at seeing others.

In the middle of each room, on a small round white pedestal was a model in a white full body spandex suit, with a sign on the pedestal, proclaiming: 'Pose me'. The idea of the moveable models had been inspired by the central idea of choosing to be who we are as well as being shaped by those around us. It had been Lily's idea.

The girl was really getting good at being an artistic director in training, as well as her personal assistant, Andy thought as she walked slowly around the gallery.

Andy felt the familiar tingle of anticipation in the bottom of her stomach, the trembling in her hands, the old sense of achievement she had achieved years ago through her art, before anything had happened. Tonight reminded her of when she had been young and naïve, willing to trust blindly in other people. It had been this kind of interactive, themed gallery, along with her father's name, that had launched her into the world of the glitterati she now found herself in.

Sometimes, she still felt like Alice in Wonderland, for all that she understood of how the people around behaved and their reason behind it.

"Ok people, ten minutes till show time!" Andy heard Lily call loudly from somewhere behind her.

She checked her watch. It was 7:50pm on the dot.

Andy rolled her eyes and sighed quietly. She pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming on.

Henry came up behind her, wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her temple. Andy tried not to flinch at the touch and failed miserably. If he noticed, he pretended not to.

"Andy darling, I'm sure it will all be fine." Henry said inanely. This was his halfhearted attempt at reassuring her. Andy had to stop herself from scoffing at him.

His hand at her waist tightened in what she assumed was meant as a reassuring gesture but felt more like being pawed at by a bear. In the other hand he was holding a full glass of whiskey. The night had barely begun and he was already on his third glass, Andy noted acerbically.

_'Please dear god don't let him get too drunk and make a scene.'_ She thought, wishing she could have excluded alcohol from her gallery's opening night entirely, although she was sure Henry would have kicked up a fuss if she had.

"Really, Henry? I'm not at all convinced." Andy retorted, a tinge of annoyance coloring her voice.

She shrugged off his hand, and walked towards Lily to once again check that everything was well and that all the guests were well and truly coming tonight. This was her first gallery opening in over two years. Andy sighed again and bit her bottom lip. What she wouldn't give to able to have a glass of bourbon right now to calm her nerves. It was out of the question of course.

Andy suppressed yet another sigh.

"Andy are you alright?" Lily asked concerned. Had she been talking to her? Andy hadn't noticed.

"What?" She blinked. "Oh. Yes, I'm fine." Andy replied, not bothering to explain she had been miles away in her thoughts.

Lily gave her a concerned look. Andy wanted to hate her for her concern, her pity, but she knew that it would be entirely unfair to Lily if she did. It didn't stop Andy from wishing she could.

_'Damn my stupid morals and humanitarian mind set,'_ Andy thought, with no small amount of irony. They really were inconvenient in this world of false pity and placating smiles.

"D-did Emilio confirm or do I have to make do with Carina for the catering tonight?" Andy said trying to sidetrack Lily before she began asking boring questions.

"Emilio confirmed at long last. He really should have known better than to make you wait so long on the confirmation." Lily huffed, also annoyed at the pompous Italian man.

"Hmph. Yes, well. Maybe next time I'll look elsewhere for catering services." Andy had learned long ago that Italians did things the way they thought was best regardless of anyone else.

Andy's phone vibrated in her clutch. She picked it up and looked at the caller id, but she didn't recognize it. She decided it was best to answer it although few people knew her private number without having been given it by Andy herself.

"Hello?"

"Andrea Sachs Goldman?" An unmistakable British voice asked.

"Yes that's me—" she tried to say but she was cut off by the ever stressed out redhead.

"Miranda Priestly would like to RSVP that she will be attending your opening night."

Andy lost her breath.

She blinked twice and gapped at the phone in her hand. Lily looked at her strangely, obviously wondering who was on the phone.

"She's _w-what?"_ Andy asked completely caught off guard.

"She's attending the gallery opening. She'll arrive a bit later than most guests but she will be attending. The car should arrive at approximately, nine o'clock. Good evening." Emily hung up on her.

Andy blinked again trying to process the information.

_Miranda Priestly_, fashion icon extraordinaire was attending her gallery's opening night. For no apparent reason.

"Andy? Andy who was that? Are you alright?" Andy vaguely heard Lily's voice ask her.

She shut off her phone and stared at it for a moment before answering with a much steady voice than she had expected, "Yes I'm fine Lily. Miranda Priestly's assistant called to RSVP. She'll be arriving at nine o'clock. Or rather, exactly fifteen minutes before nine."

"She's _what?!_ Miranda Priestly is coming? Here?! Oh my god!" Lily exclaimed. She was practically bouncing up and down with excitement rolling like waves off of her. "Andy that's great news!"

Andy was still reeling from the shock. When Henry had invited her, Andy had almost elbowed him in the ribs for his stupidity.

Miranda Priestly was an extremely busy woman. Surely she wouldn't want to take time out of her busy schedule to visit a re-emerging artist's first gallery in New-York in years?

Apparently, she did.

Andy could have been bowled over with a feather.

* * *

Andy forced herself to smile pleasantly at each new guest that arrived at the gallery, even though she felt tight enough to snap at any moment. She was like a bow string pulled too tight. She could only hope to avoid whiplash.

The low lights in the gallery, and the city jazz lounge music playing from the speakers gave the gallery an air of 'mystère', while using spot lights on the hidden canvases to allow for proper viewing of the art once the curtains were pulled back.

Once again, Andy was dragged out of her musings by the voice of the newest bout of people come to greet her.

"Andrea darling!" Andy managed to stop herself from cringing because of the way the woman said her name, putting emphasis on the AN-drea instead of the way a certain white haired fashion editor said it.

"You look lovely." Cooed Norma Schulmann gesturing widely at her golden metallic Gucci minidress*.

"Thank you, so do you ." Andy replied, attempting to look pleased at the compliment.

She glanced surreptitiously behind the shorter woman's shoulder to see who was next to come greet her. Andy saw that Henry was talking to Nicholai Androkovitch and his wife Sybil, handling himself like the professional smooth-talker that he was. He didn't have a glass of alcohol in his hand for once.

_'Thank god for small favors,'_ Andy thought.

"We're so glad you're back, dear," Charles Schulmann said with a smarmy smile. "The gallery looks fascinating. I'm sure we'll enjoy it immensely." He patted her hand, then led his wife away to smooze at other rich people in the room. Andy decided to move towards the blue side of the mirror to watch but not be seen, as other guests entered the gallery. It would give her the opportunity to observe the guests arriving without being seen immediately.

She called over a tuxedoed waiter and took a flute of non-alcoholic punch. She sipped at it, and was mesmerized for a moment by the way the light reflected on the ice cubes in the glass.

She felt her hand twitch. She wanted to go home and paint. Yes, that sounded like an excellent idea. But Miranda Priestly was coming tonight. And if only for that reason, she shouldn't leave. Andy huffed at the glass in her hand, annoyed, as though it was the glass' fault she couldn't have a drink and she couldn't leave early.

She checked the time again. 8:44pm. Miranda could arrive at any given moment.

She watched the door as she walked around the room greeting people who had already made it to this side of the gallery.

She took their empty compliments for what they were, empty. Nothing more and nothing less. It didn't matter what they thought about her art.

The only people whose criticism or praise Andy ever allowed to affect her, was that of the people she painted. It was their depiction on the canvas after all. They should get a say in how others would see them for years to come.

A whispering current of surprise began on the red side of the room. Andy watched through the pane of glass as silent heads turned to whisper soundlessly to each other about the newest arrival.

Miranda Priestly had just entered the room.

She immediately and effectively captured the stage Andy had so carefully set. Some small part of the back corner of Andy's brain told her this was her night and that this should bother her, but she quickly shoved that thought away.

She saw Miranda's sharp gaze search the room, drifting over the non-entities, searching. For whom? Surely it couldn't be her. Andy decided she'd watched long enough.

It was time to greet the guest of honor.

-To be continued-

(A/n: I'd love to hear from you all, if you've got the time, tell me what you think! *: w w w . dailymail . co . u k / tvshowbiz / article-2281493 / Anne-Hathaway-slips-metallic-minidress-Costume-Designers-Guild-Awards-just-days-learns-Oscars-fate . H t ml Remove the spaces and follow the link to see Andy's dress for the gallery! )


	4. Part 4: Better To Burn Than Drown

The Painter

Part 4: Better To Burn Than Drown

"I find him in the curves of certain lines, in the loveliness and subtleties of certain colours." ― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

Andy walked through the throng of people towards Miranda. The crowded space and dodging of people gave her a few moments to appraise Miranda's appearance before actually having to speak to the woman.

Miranda wore an icy pale blue wrap around sheath combined with a white jacket draped over her shoulders, with white suede Manolo's to complete the outfit. She wore blue topaz earbobs and a sharp looking silver omega watch on her left wrist.

Simplistic, up-to-the-moment chic and breathtakingly elegant. Of course.

Andy expected nothing less from the tyrant queen of fashion herself.

Andy had no clue when exactly, she had become so obsessed over Miranda's wardrobe. All she knew at the moment was that Miranda was giving her that up and down look again and she hoped Miranda liked her outfit. God, at this rate, she'd become even vainer than Emily if she wasn't careful.

Then she was standing in front of Miranda and conversation became mandatory once more.

She smiled a little too broadly and said, "Miranda, I'm glad you could make it. It was good of you to come." Andy could have bit her tongue off for level of 'boring conversationalist' that comment had just stamped her as, right off the bat. Great. This conversation was starting well.

Miranda looked at her with a raised eyebrow. She gave Andy the infamous _'you can do better than that, surely'_ look. Oh boy.

She glanced over Miranda's shoulder to see Emily sneering at her, enjoying her discomfort. _'Hmph. Bitch.'_ Andy thought categorizing her officially as one of the people she didn't like. The redhead had been rude to her one too many times.

"Andrea." Miranda leaned in for an air-kiss. Andy felt Miranda's cheeks brush her own, kissing the air beside her face and briefly wondered what Miranda's mouth felt like. Was it as soft as the rest of her face had been when Andy had posed her? She dismissed her idle musings for later. For now, she had to focus on the woman in front of her.

Andy should have known she would actually come. Henry had invited her at the Benefit after all. Miranda was the type to want to check out the kind of work Andy did before truly committing to buying a portrait from her.

Miranda made a show of looking around the gallery, taking in the design, the hidden art, the mirrors and the dim lights. But Andy noticed Miranda was watching the people even more intently than the art. Already she was analyzing the mob that had decided to come see the show, making note of who the enemies where and who to talk to later as well as who to ignore.

"Interesting choice of theme. Self-reflection." Miranda said seemingly out of nowhere. Andy nodded, even though she wasn't looking at her.

"I would have thought it a rather obvious theme, but the design of the gallery has a fresh take on it. All thanks to my design team. I'm just the painter after all."

"I disagree." Miranda said absently. She tugged at the curtains hiding the portrait of a young woman with her eyes down cast, staring at something the portrait didn't include. The woman's eyebrows were furrowed intently as she concentrated on the task at hand. "Few people can look themselves and the mirror and be happy with who they see." Miranda murmured.

Andy wondered what Miranda saw when she looked in the mirror. She knew Miranda must be wondering the same thing about her. Andy doubted either of them would like to hear the answers to the unasked questions floating between them.

"Andy! There you are, I've been looking for you!" Lily called to her from a few feet away, "Mr. and Mrs. Ross are here. They wanted to speak to you about a portrait they want to buy and how much you want for it."

"Ah. Business is calling." Miranda said. "I won't keep you."

"Will you stay for a bit?" Andy asked._ 'Please let her say yes,' Andy thought._ "I'd love to come back to discuss ideas for your portrait once you've got a clearer idea of what I can do."

"Mmm. Yes. I think I'll be here for a while yet." Miranda replied, glancing around again, "Go Andrea. Your buyers are waiting."

Andy nodded and let Lily lead her away.

* * *

Andy let Lily take her to Mr. and Mrs. Ross, who were standing near the painting they wanted to buy. Andy wondered which one had peeked their interest. It was always interesting to see which painting would be the first to be bought. Lily pulled back the curtains to expose the painting.

Andy stopped dead in her tracks.

What was _that_ portrait doing here? It shouldn't be here. It couldn't be here. It was supposed to be in the warehouse, hidden away, never to be seen again.

But here it was. Who had done this? Did they not have any idea what that portrait meant to Andy?

"What is that portrait doing here Lily?" Andy asked. She ground her teeth together to keep herself from yelling at the top of her lungs.

"G-Gisele found it in the back of the warehouse under some of the other portraits we brought out to show." Lily said, "We—we thought it was fine, after you approved the final show book." She cringed visibly with every word.

Andy couldn't tear her eyes away from the infant's face on the canvas.

Those all too familiar eyes, the sweet pink mouth, the shape of the button nose. _Oh God. _

"So, how much are you asking for it Mrs. Sachs Goldman?" asked Mr. Ross. He smiled hesitantly.

Andy stared at him. She hadn't heard what he'd said. Her chest was tight. She felt like there were a hundred people shoved into the small room instead of only two dozen or so.

Mr. and Mrs. Ross looked at Andy expectantly.

His previous question registered with her at last. "It—it's not for s-sale." Andy said.

It took all her strength not to start crying right then and there in the middle of the gallery.

She was shaking. Her chest felt tight, like there wasn't enough air in the room. She clenched her hands into fists.

"Take it down Lily. _Take it down right this second._" Andy managed to growl.

Her eyes flashed with an emotion that was far beyond furious. She was seeing red.

_How dare they?_ How dare they put her through this again?

Andy very nearly punched the wall behind her. She wanted to. But there were people watching her. She wanted to feel her knuckles crack with impact, feel the searing pain and hear the satisfying crunch of flesh hitting brick.

Instead, she denied herself the satisfaction of inflicting pain and fled the room, headed towards the back alley.

She needed some air. She couldn't breathe. She needed air. She needed to get away. Far away from the probing eyes of her husband and the false careening voices filled with 'concern' that just would not shut up.

She breathed in the sharp autumn air as she stepped outside into the night.

She slammed the door leading to the back alley behind her with all her might. She enjoyed the smashing, screeching, protest of the old metal door as it crashed brutally into its much abused frame.

She felt a bit dizzy. Her legs gave out and she sat on the step and focused on her breathing, deep and slow, trying to prevent the on-coming panic attack. She felt like a freight train had just crashed into her and she was trying breathe after the impact.

The single buzzing street light attempted to create some form of illumination without much success.

_'Pathetic.'_ Andy thought, although whether she was thinking of the street light or of herself, she really couldn't say.

She hoped no one would follow her. She couldn't breathe with all those people looking at her, pitying her. She needed to breathe. Preferably alone.

There wasn't enough air for two idiots in this tiny alley way. Andy was surely an idiot. It had been so long, so much time had gone by and still— that painting affected her deeply.

"Goddamnit." She muttered, feeling the unwelcome tears prick her eyes. _"Goddamnit."_ She said again louder.

"Fuck!" She swore furiously at no one.

She stood up. With no one to watch or hold her back, Andy slammed her fist into the brick wall of the alley, relishing the pain is caused her. Someone had to hurt, someone had to pay for what happened, so why not her? Why not make herself suffer?

Yes, that's right, anger was good. She knew anger. She could use anger.

It was better than the darkness which threatened to drag her under at every opportunity. She let her hand drop to her side, savoring the ache in her finger, the sting reverberating through her fingertips. Yes. Pain. Anger. Good.

_'Better to burn than drown.'_ Andy thought chewing her bottom lip, trying to stop the damned tears from falling.

She heard the door to the alley open.

"Andrea." A soft, cool voice called from the doorway behind her.

"Go away." Andy dared to snarl at the other woman without looking at her. If she looked at her, Andy knew she would crumble.

"Alright. I'll see you on the 25th then." Miranda began to walk back inside.

"N-no, wait! Please…I'm sorry. That was uncalled for." Andy said feeling even worse for having been short with someone who didn't deserve it. Andy still couldn't look at her. The alley really was horribly lit. If Andy hadn't been standing in the light off the doorway, Miranda wouldn't have been able to see her.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Andy asked. She dared to look up at Miranda, finally.

Miranda paused one hand on the door frame. She looked at Andy, with something that was suspiciously close to pity in her grey-blue eyes.

_'Not that. Please not that. Not from you.'_ Andy thought, hoping against hope that she was wrong.

Miranda didn't pity her. Miranda didn't pity anyone. Right?

"That assistant of yours wanted to let you know that painting has been taken down." Miranda said. "Your husband has claimed you have a migraine and that you will be heading home soon." The unspoken words hung clearly in the air between them, _'You should go with him, before people start talking too much.'_

Why on in God's name was Miranda being kind to her? Andy was truly at a loss.

It just didn't make sense.

She barely knew the woman and yet—. "I, uh—thank you. Yes. I, I think I'll do just that." Andy said. She took deep steadying breaths, trying not to start crying again. She needed to hold it in, to not let anyone see her weakness.

She turned away from Miranda, expecting her to leave. If her father had taught her anything, it was that people in their world would always use that weakness to wound further. Like sharks smelling blood in the water they would swarm and devour a helpless creature at the first sign of pain. She took another deep steadying breath.

She rubbed her hands on her arms, trying to chase away the cold. Her metallic minidress was not meant for the cold autumn night.

She felt a cool hand touch her arm. Andy yelped softly, "Oh!"

She'd though Miranda had left already. Apparently she hadn't. Andy shut her eyes and wished she would leave. She wanted to be alone.

But...Despite her longing to be left alone, the hand on her arm had a comforting quality to it, no matter how awkward or half-hearted the gesture itself was.

Why was Miranda doing this? She had no motivation to do so. Maybe she should ask her— "Andy? Are you out here?" She heard her husbands' voice call out from the doorway.

Oh God, please don't let Henry come to find her, he was the last person she wanted to see.

Suddenly the hand was gone, Miranda's footsteps could be heard going up the steps, and the light from the doorframe dimmed as the door was shut partially behind Miranda.

"No, she's not here Henry. I thought the same, but it seems we were both wrong." Andy heard Miranda reply from the other side of the door.

"Oh, alright. God, I hope nothing's happened. Andy's always been sensitive about that painting…I understand of course but it has been three years since our son passed away…That portrait was painted a week before he—" Henry choked up, unable to continue speaking.

Andy on the other hand wanted to choke him herself with her bare hands. He had no right to tell Miranda about their private affairs. No right at all to expose Andy like he had just done and make her so vulnerable to Miranda with that information.

"Henry," Miranda said clearly placating, "Why don't you go find that assistant of hers to see if she's seen your wife?"

"Yes," Henry sighed, "you're right of course." Andy heard his footsteps as he turned to leave. "Aren't you coming?"

"Yes in a moment." Miranda said. She offered no further explanation.

"Alright. I'll be sure to let you know when we find her." Henry replied.

Andy heard Henry leave and she sighed quietly.

"He's gone." Miranda murmured to Andy who was still in the ally.

"Thank you." Andy replied just as softly, not wanting to draw him back with the sound of voices.

There was a moment of silence between the two and Miranda came back to the other side of the door to look at Andy. The sounds of cars rushing by could be heard, their horns honking and the sounds of the city were the only noise that filled the air for a moment, as Miranda observed Andy standing there in the dark alley.

"Why did you do it?" Andy dared to ask, breaking the silence first.

"I owed you." Miranda said, "I always repay those I owe."

Andy stood staring at her for a moment longer before leaning back against the brick wall, expensive dress be damned. She covered her face with her hand and heaved a heavy, shuddering breath.

"Andrea," Miranda murmured, frowning, "What did you do to your hand?"

"What?" Andy asked, then she looked at her knuckles and saw they were bruised and bloodied, "Oh. I— it's nothing, really."

Miranda quirked an eyebrow questioningly, demanding further explanation.

"I, I kind of punched the wall. I was angry. It was stupid. My hand it fine. Just a bit sore, is all."

"Really, Andrea." Miranda said dryly. "You should be more careful with your hands. You are an artist after all."

"Yes, I know. I just—I painted that portrait, right before my son d—" Andy stopped midsentence.

She shouldn't be explaining this or anything to a woman like Miranda. It was a shark eat shark world after all. Who's to say Miranda wouldn't use this information to hurt her? They barely knew each other. Andy had no reason to trust her with more than she already knew thanks to her idiot husband.

"It was nothing." Andy continued. "I need to get back inside before Henry decides to call the police."

"Mmm, yes, that would be a good idea." Miranda replied. She was still watching Andy like a hawk might watch its prey. Andy went up the stairs and past Miranda without another word.

"I'll see you on Tuesday, Andrea." She heard Miranda call after her.

Andy didn't look back.

* * *

Henry met Andy just as she was coming back into the gallery's show room.

"Andy! My God, are you alright?" Henry asked, all concerned frowns and caring hugs. Lily saw Henry embrace her and Andy noticed her face seemed to fall a little. Maybe Andy should apologize for her earlier antics. Then she saw the look Lily gave Andy. She was surprised to see how much venom was in the look.

No. Andy would not apologize.

Henry released her and took her hand instead. "Let's go home, shall we?" He asked.

"Yes." Andy managed. "I'm exhausted. It feels like my head in splitting in two." She said a bit more loudly.

She watched as people around them glanced at her surreptitiously. Good. The mob had heard her say she had a headache and now they would likely spread that as the reason she was leaving so early.

She saw a flash of white from the corner of her eye. She turned and saw Miranda walking around the gallery, taking in the paintings, the people, the design, observing everything around her.

Andy sighed and smiled at her weakly. Miranda tilted her head slightly, a question in her expression. It was as if she were saying, _'I have no idea why you're smiling at me.'_ Although of course, she knew it was Andy's way of saying thank you.

Henry led her outside to the car waiting at the curb. Once settled in the car, Andy leaned on his shoulder and closed her eyes, trusting him to take them home.

She really was exhausted, emotionally.

"Take us home." Henry said to the driver. The driver nodded once, and lifted the privacy screen.

For a long while, she couldn't really say how long, she drifted, watching the lights of other cars flash by. She was exhausted, and drained, and sort of numb.

Andy fell asleep before they arrived at the apartment. In the morning she would be glad of it. She didn't want to talk about anything that had happened last night. Certainly not to him.

Henry left for work before she woke up.

Andy rolled over alone in bed and cried the tears she'd held in the night before.

- To be continued -


	5. Part 5: Terribly Beautiful

The Painter

Part 5: Terribly Beautiful

"If you hear a voice within you say you cannot paint, then by all means paint and that voice will be silenced." ― Vincent van Gogh

"Good afternoon Miranda," Andy said. She took Miranda's red and black fur coat and hung it in the closet.

Andy had always loved the feel of fur, and for the barest instant she enjoyed the feel of it in her hands.

"Hello Andrea." Miranda replied. She appeared rather stiff and far more formal than the last time they had had a sitting.

There was an awkward silence. Both women eyed each other, wondering what the other would do about last Friday.

Andy hoped Miranda would let the subject lie after she apologized for her impromptu break down. She'd been stressing for the better part of the weekend about how Miranda would react to the incident. Andy led Miranda to the studio again, wasting no time, playing the gracious host once more.

As Miranda sat down in the chair, Andy said, "I'm sorry about last Friday, it was completely unprofessional of me to break down like that, I should have held it together. I'd understand perfectly if you'd rather stop—"

"Oh don't be ridiculous Andrea." Miranda pursed her lips, "Why would we do that?"

She said it as though Andy was being completely idiotic and she felt appropriately scolded.

Miranda didn't waste time. If she decided to do something, she did it.

Andy should have realized that she was being silly. So what if Andy had an emotional breakdown? It shouldn't affect their working relationship. Andy stared, her mouth hanging open, slightly. She closed her mouth and blinked at Miranda.

"Let's begin shall we?" Miranda asked, annoyed.

"Oh sorry." Andy moved forward to pose her, but just as her hand almost touched Miranda's face, she froze for a split second, hesitating.

Miranda's hand on her arm, in that dimly lit alley way flashed in her mind. Her hand had been so cool and soft. It had been almost as if Miranda cared that she was in pain. But that couldn't possibly be true. Not Miranda. Surely not.

Would her skin be soft again?

Andy continued almost immediately but the split second pause had been obvious enough for Miranda to notice. If she had, Miranda was an expert at pretense. She didn't even bat an eye.

As Andy posed Miranda once more, she let her fingers run up Miranda jaw a little slower than necessary. Miranda flinched a bit, but continued to allow the contact.

"Sorry." Andy muttered again.

Andy tilted her head and moved a lock of her white hair from her forehead. This time Miranda did blink.

Then Andy's hands moved to Miranda shoulders and lowered them slightly. Miranda's blouse was cut to expose her shoulders. Andy's hands touched bare skin.

She felt Miranda breathe in a bit too sharply. Andy glanced at her face worriedly. Had she done something wrong?

She removed her hands from Miranda's shoulders quickly and instead posed her arms back to where they had been for the initial sketch. One hand on the arm of the chair, the other, on her lap.

When Andy looked back up to check the angle of the head again and met face to face with Miranda's piercing gaze, a question clear in them. But what question that was, Andy couldn't know.

Miranda looked away almost at once. If Andy had known to look for it, she might have seen the slight flush that had made Miranda turn her eyes away.

Andy pulled away and smiled awkwardly, before going back to her easel. And then, the tension in the room became unbearable. If only Andy had put some music on to fill the silence.

Andy decided to risk asking for it. For all she knew it might be a suicide mission and Miranda hated all kinds of music. But death would be marginally better than this suffocating silence.

"Would you mind if I put some background music on?" she asked, "I find it helps me focus."

Miranda waved her hand permissively without looking at Andy. "Fine."

"Alright, do you have a preference?"

This time Miranda looked at her without moving her head, conveying her best, _'Would you stop blabbering and just do it already'_ glare.

Andy gulped. Yep. She should just go put the music on. Jeez. This was going to be an interesting session.

Priestly: 1, Sachs Goldman: 0

She decided to stick to something classic and put on a Debussy album, and started with her personal favorite, 'Nocturne'.

Andy went back to her easel and began to sketch.

If Miranda hadn't been statuesque to begin with, Andy might possibly have guessed she was enjoying the music.

She didn't tell Andy to turn it off in any case.

Andy felt an unaccountably pleased at her good music choice. It was pure luck but she still felt pleased. At least she hadn't put on Radiohead. Thank God for her momentary lapse into 'Miranda awareness'.

Priestly: 1, Sachs Goldman: 1

* * *

Andy permitted herself a small smile as she glanced back and forth from Miranda to the newest sketch. This would be the final copy which she would use to begin the base of her canvas.

She could already picture what colors she would mix together for Miranda's 'stormy sky' colored eyes.

Andy chuckled quietly, at her use of mixed comparisons. Miranda arched an eyebrow. Andy simply shook her head. For a moment Andy thought Miranda might push it, but Miranda looked back towards the window apparently deciding it wasn't worth it.

Some days, Miranda's eyes were like ice. Cold enough to burn you. Other days they had the warmth of a summer rain. It was hard to keep up with the weather in Miranda-land.

If Andy followed that logic, it must be the very beginning of spring, right before the flowers come out but the earth is still brown and dead in Andy-land.

She suppressed another smile. Miranda would start to think she really was off her rocker if she started smiling at nothing.

She checked the time and sighed. Where had the time flown to? It had already been 45 minutes.

Time to take a break. "Let's take a break. Would like something to drink? Tea, water, coffee?"

"Tea." She said simply. She wasn't looking at Andy.

She stood up and Andy could tell she'd like to stretch but wouldn't do it in front of her.

"Alright. I'll make a pot of earl grey." Andy said. Miranda hummed her approval.

* * *

Andy came back with two cups of earl grey and a pot just in case either of them wanted a re-fill.

She walked back into her studio and saw Miranda sitting, one of Andy's sketch books in her lap. Miranda was going through page after page of Andy's sketches, most them of Miranda, herself.

The book was full of her face, her eyes and her smile. Andy had spent hour after hour sketching her, studying her. It had been her escape from thinking too much this past weekend. She must have left it out on her desk.

What did Miranda think of them? She would probably never find out for certain if Miranda enjoyed her art work. But she had been the one to push for the portrait in the first place, although why she had done so in the first place Andy was almost sure she'd never know.

She was the queen of whims after all. What Miranda wanted, Miranda got.

Andy went to put the tray on the coffee table and took her own cup before sitting down on the settee across from Miranda. Miranda looked up at her, then back down at the book, with a look Andy surmised, was one of confusion. A highly un-common occurrence in Miranda's spectrum of expressions.

"Andrea…" she began, not looking up from the drawings, "Why do you have so many sketches of me?"

Oh God. That was _the_ question she always dreaded answering. Andy had always had trouble explaining why she became so fixed on the people who would sit for a portrait. But even she had to admit, she was being unusually obsessive in Miranda's case.

"Oh, w-well, um…" She stuttered.

Miranda arched a single eyebrow waiting for an answer.

"I, I fixate on certain people, not based on their looks most of the time, but on their personalities."

"Excuse me?" Miranda asked, her eyebrows furrowing.

"I – I mean, uh, Henry does a better job of explaining it than I do. He says that I find the beauty in a person's personality and try to show it in my paintings."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Didn't I?" Andy asked. She knew she was avoiding it but hell— this was Miranda Priestly she was speaking too. Could anyone blame her for not wanting to explain what made her tic?

"No, you didn't." She said, her voice flat, unimpressed. Shit.

"Well. I mean, I saw you at the Benefit and I thought you were beautiful." She said trying to sound matter-o-fact about it.

Miranda was searching her face, with something like disbelief in her eyes.

"I saw you coming down the stairs and you were just— beautiful." Andy said faintly. Oh God. Please don't let Miranda hate her. She didn't want to cause this woman any more trouble.

Miranda said nothing. She continued to look at Andy with a puzzled expression. Was she angry? Andy couldn't really tell. But she thought not.

Andy looked away nervously.

Miranda's phone rang, breaking the silence and making both women jump a bit.

Miranda pulled her phone out of her purse and glanced at the caller ID.

"I have to take this." Miranda said to Andy. She took the hint.

"Of course, I'll just go outside for a bit." Andy said, taking her tea cup with her.

She left the studio just as Miranda picked up the phone and said, "Hello? Stephen, what is it?"

Shut the door behind her. Andy sipped at her tea and waited to hear Miranda finish her call. The voices were hushed but Andy could tell Miranda sounded tense and annoyed. Oh dear. She hoped the phone call would spare her from having to elaborate further on exactly why and how she had fixated on Miranda.

It was strange for her to have to try and formulate words to explain her reasoning. Words seemed so inadequate. It was something she experienced, not something she could describe accurately. It was a feeling which was familiar to her, but not one she'd ever really dared to examine in great detail. A kind of warmth, longing and something which bored on affection. If someone had to try to find words to explain 'the feeling' those were the ones Andy would use.

Miranda's voice sounded strained although she couldn't make out many words. The voices got louder.

"Stephen I—" her voice cut off to listen to the voice on the other end of the phone.

"No!" she exclaimed, "You know I wanted to be ther—" Stephen said something to cut her off.

"Of course not, don't be ridiculous!" Andy heard Miranda say angrily.

Andy hoped everything was ok.

"Alright. Yes. Goodbye…I'll see you tonight."

There was a moment of silence. Andy thought it was probably a good time to knock.

She knocked twice.

"Miranda?" Andy called quietly.

Miranda said, "Yes, I'm finished. Let's get back to work shall we?"

"Of course." Andy murmured. Miranda's eyes were slightly red. Her voice was a bit rougher than before she'd gotten the call. She was upset and trying not to show it.

Miranda sat down in the armchair again and tried to go back to exactly where she had been before, but it wasn't quite right. Andy came forward and reached out to pose her again.

"Must you?" Miranda said, her voice showing her annoyance.

She felt vulnerable and didn't feel like letting Andy anywhere near her, Andy could tell. She'd been there herself a few times. With Henry in particular.

"For the sake of the accuracy of the portrait, yes." She wanted to tell Miranda she was sorry it made her uncomfortable but she didn't think the other woman would take too kindly to her vulnerability being pointed out by Andy. Miranda huffed in annoyance and nodded her consent.

Andy reached up and tilted her head, being extra careful to not do anything unexpected or to move her with anything other than a gentle touch. Her fingers lingered on her jawline again.

Andy suppressed a sigh. The lines of Miranda's face, her bone structure, the small lines at the corners of her eyes, the color of those eyes, the sadness and pain in them, they were all beautiful to Andy. A small part of her consciousness realized she'd never been so deeply affected by someone's beauty before. Miranda was exceptional.

Miranda shut her eyes. Andy felt her shiver. Andy's breath caught in her throat.

_'So beautiful. So incredibly beautiful.'_ Andy thought, frowning in concentration as she inched Miranda's face back to the place where Andy always positioned her.

Then something Andy could never have anticipated happened.

A tear slipped down Miranda cheek, escaping like a traitor running from the source of the pain inside Miranda.

Andy let her thumb catch it and brush it away.

Miranda tensed and her eyes shot open to look at her. The shock in her expression was clear as day. And the pain in her eyes made stole Andy's breathe away.

_That._ That right there was the spark. The one thing that made her so terribly beautiful.

_Her pain. _

It had shaped her, created her, and defined her. It was the most deeply ingrained, secret part of her. Miranda lived on hope. That was clear to Andy now. She lived on the hope that, one day, there would be someone who wouldn't hurt her. Someone who wouldn't disappoint her. Because everyone did eventually. They all hurt her in one way or another. Either by accident or on purpose. More often than not it was on purpose.

Miranda blinked and tried to compose herself. Her eyes were wet but she wasn't crying. Not yet. She was forcing herself not to.

Her husband must have said something to upset her. Andy wished for one insane moment she could comfort her. She knew it was impossible, that Miranda would never accept it, but still she wanted to offer it to her. She wanted to hug her and make foolish promises. That she would make it all better, that she could stop the pain…But that would be a lie. Here, now, looking into her face, she felt a fierce ache in her chest.

_"Oh Miranda."_ She breathed.

"Don't. Please…I—" Miranda pleaded, holding back more traitorous tears. She couldn't handle it if Andy offered. She couldn't accept it.

Andy knew that. But still she wished that she would let the walls fall for a short while and allow someone anyone to be there for her. But Miranda couldn't bear it.

That would require her to trust. And Miranda trusted no one.

It was simple really.

Andy wasn't allowed close and Miranda wasn't going to let her get that close in any case.

So instead, after a long moment, Andy pulled her hand away from Miranda's face.

More silence ensued, broken only by the soft music in the background, but neither woman looked away from each other. Not this time. They couldn't pretend that nothing was different this time.

"Was that Stephen? On the phone?" Andy finally asked, needing to change the subject, anything to end the tension which was quickly becoming unbearable. Saying something inane often had its uses despite how much Andy hated to admit it.

"Yes." She managed to say. Her voice still had a rough quality to it, showing that she was suppressing her emotions.

That bastard. Andy wanted to yell at him, even though she'd only met him once. He'd upset Miranda. That made him a bastard in Andy's book.

"Miranda I—" Andy began but she didn't really know what there was to say.

Miranda looked at the Swarovski watch on her right hand wrist. They still had 15 minutes left.

Andy went back to sit at her easel. Proper position be damned.

Miranda went back to sitting approximately where Andy had placed her.

Her posture was tense and she looked almost like she had that first day. Like she didn't want to be here. As if she would like nothing better than too run from the room.

"Miranda, why did you accept my offer?" Andy dared to ask. She'd wanted to know for a while and now seemed like the only opportunity she'd get.

Miranda looked at her sharply.

"Out of politeness? That doesn't seem very much like something you would do, so, out of a sense of curiosity?" She continued to push the subject.

"What does it matter 'why' I'm here? I'm paying you aren't I?" Miranda retorted.

Oh dear, she was resorting to anger to hide her vulnerability. Usually a well-placed comment like that would have shut Andy up, but not this time. She was like a dog with a bone when she got something stuck in her mind, she was determined to get an answer out of this enigmatic woman.

"Technically not yet, no." Andy said, trying to keep her voice steady, "And it matters to me. I'm not going to sit here for the next few months panting someone who doesn't want to be here."

There was a short silence.

"Fair enough, I suppose." She replied, appearing sardonically amused by Andy's gal. The tears were gone now, hidden away behind the walls of ice once more.

Andy waited for a reply to her questions. A few moments later, she got one.

"Why did you offer to paint me?" she asked instead of answering.

Andy gaped at her. "I—well, isn't obvious?" she asked. "You, you're like no one else I've ever seen before." Miranda raised her eyebrows. Andy felt like she'd just taken her foot and shoved it in her mouth. No, actually that would have been better than what she'd just done.

"'Like no one you've ever seen before' what are you—?" Miranda began to ask, her tone bordering dangerously on irate.

"I'm sorry," Andy backtracked, "It's just— well it's true. There's just something about you that draws the eye. A natural form of beauty, that can't be cultivated or recreated, it just is." Andy wondered if she shouldn't just shut up now, as she watched the look of surprise spread across Miranda's face. She really was horrible at explaining her fixation. "And your eyes…they're-I don't know, they- they're captivating. It's what made me want to paint you in the first place." Andy wished she'd remained silent instead of having elaborated exactly what she should have kept to herself.

Moments of sharp silence slipped by them, like a knife cutting through butter.

"Oh. Well— I, um…" Miranda paused and touched her nape nervously looking anywhere but Andy's face. For once it seemed that she was at a loss for words.

"You're welcome." Andy said, trying not to let her relief show on her face too much.

Miranda opened her mouth as if to say something, and then closed it and simply nodded.

Andy heard the front door open and close loudly. Henry was home a bit early. Damn. Andy couldn't suppress a wince. Miranda looked at her knowingly. In this they were alike. Their husbands were far from being what either of them truly needed.

"Honey? Andy? Are you home?" Andy shot an apologetic look at Miranda.

She quickly stepped out into the hall and called, "Yes, Henry I'm in the studio with Miranda. We'll be done in a few minutes."

"Oh, ok. Say hello to Miranda for me." Andy smiled at him, placating him, before turning around and heading right back into the studio before he got any ideas of kiss her or hugging her or god forbid touching her barely existent baby bump.

She rolled her eyes and muttered. "God. Ugh." Under her breathe. Right, as if Miranda couldn't hear his loud voice from the studio.

She shut the door again behind her. She was tempted to lock it in case he decided to say hi personally. She didn't, but only because Miranda was watching her like a hawk.

"Sorry about that. Shall we continue?" "No. It's time I head home."

Andy looked at her watch. Damn. She was right. Their time was up. She'd barely drawn anything.

"I'll set up an appointment for next week then." Andy said.

"That won't be possible." Miranda said as she stood up.

"I'm sorry, what?" Had Andy scared her off? Was she deciding she didn't want to go through with the portrait after all? Oh please no. Not that.

"Miranda I—" she tried to say. She had to convince her, to change her mind. She had to.

"It's Paris fashion week. I'll be out of town. The week after that will be fine."

"Oh." _'Oh thank god.'_ She thought.

"The next week then." Andy let out the breathe she hadn't realized she'd been holding out, relieved.

"Mmm. Yes." Miranda replied. She seemed absent minded. Andy knew she must be lost in thought. Today had given both of them a lot to think about.

"I'll walk you out then." Andy let Miranda out to the door and turned to hand her, her coat. Instead of taking it from her Miranda simply slipped one arm into the sleeve and Andy was obliged to help her put on her coat. Andy's fingers accidentally brushed her nape and Andy felt her tense slightly.

Andy gritted her teeth, but was unable to stop her own sharp intake of breath. Miranda paused for the barest instant before continuing. She turned around to face Andy once.

"Till the week after next, Andrea." Miranda managed before turning around and rushing down the hallway without even waiting for Andy's reply. She shut the door after having heard the last audible click of Miranda's heels echo down the hallway.

"See you in two weeks." Andy murmured to the shut door in front of her.

_'She never did ask about the opening night,'_ Andy mused. But then again, Andy could tell that Miranda really wasn't the kind of woman to ever intrude on another person's personal life. She stood there frowning at the door for a moment longer, wondering what the hell had just happened between them.

She tried to formulate it clearly in her mind. She had been, _attracted,_ to Miranda.

That thought alone was shocking to Andy. As far as she knew, she'd never been attracted to a woman before.

But what was more shocking still, was that, although Andy could never have imagined it, Miranda seemed to be…for lack of a better word, _reacting…_to her as well.

Dear God. If this was true, and Andy wasn't entirely sure yet that she was right, what did it mean for both of them?

She had no idea.

"Andy? Honey?" Henry called from the living room. "Are you finished yet?"

Andy realized she needed to go and see Henry, to smile as though nothing was different and act as though her understanding of herself hadn't just done a spin on its axis. It was unfathomable to her that it should be necessary to behave normally after such a day.

"Y-yes, Miranda just left." She called back.

Henry's heavy footsteps came down the hall towards her. He turned around the corner and she saw he had a glass of whiskey in his hand. They hadn't even had supper yet and he was in the drink.

He came forward and kissed her cheek. His breath smelled of whiskey and the cigarettes he refused to give up no matter how much Andy pleaded with him. His hand touched the barely there bump in her stomach. Andy's lips where pressed into a thin line. He was trying be supportive and affectionate but to Andy it just came off as clingy.

How long had she been repulsed by her husband's touch? Hadn't it taken her a long while to become interested in men as a teenager? Hadn't she pushed her boyfriends away when they'd asked for sex? Hadn't she been….indifferent to their attentions? She'd always rationalized that she'd just never had the courage to tell them what she wanted but…now she was unsure. What if it had been more? She was 28 years old for Christ sake! How had she not noticed anything?

"Earth to Andy?" Henry asked. Oups. She'd been lost in thought. She couldn't allow herself that luxury at the moment.

"Yes. I'm fine. Let's go see what Marina has made for super." She said. She couldn't look him in the eye. She disentangled herself from him, heading towards the kitchen. He was close on her heels.

She had to be more careful not to slip up. She had to be Andy Sachs Goldman, wife of the current chairman of the American multinational investment banking firm Sachs Goldman and Co, eccentric painter and daughter of the late CEO. The tragedy stricken wife and husband with no children, but it wasn't Henry's fault, it was hers, the wife's. Of course.

_'The one who'd fallen apart two years ago after the loss of their son due to SIDS. Such a tragedy. Poor thing._' That was what Andy knew people thought of her.

That was who she was. The one who had lost it. But what 'it' was, very people could ever understand. When people said she'd 'lost it' they meant in the sense that she'd gone a bit off her rocker. And it was true she had…but it hadn't been her mind that she'd lost.

_'Ethan.'_ She thought the name she always avoided thinking. So much pain was attached to it. A wave of sadness over took her for an instant.

One thing had been taken away. Just one thing. And her world had come apart like a house of card falling down around her.

She shut her eyes briefly as their chef, Marina, set out plates of some kind of high folic acid and walnut salad for her and a fish steak for Henry. With another glass of whiskey. Of course.

"Honey are you alright?" Henry asked, looking at her worriedly. Andy tried to smile but she was sure it looked stiff.

"I'm fine. How was your day? Did that meeting with John work out as you'd hoped?"

"Even better," He said. And with that meager amount of coaxing, Henry launched into a description of the events at the office.

Andy knew she should probably feel at least a bit guilty for diverting him so easily but she really couldn't quite bring herself to care so long as he didn't bother her with questions she couldn't answer yet. As he spoke, she 'hmm'd' and 'ah'd' at the right places and smiled and nodded barely listening as she ate.

"So, how was your day, 'at the office' so to speak?" he asked with a smug smile. He was on his third glass of whiskey.

"It was fine." She couldn't look him in the eye.

"That bad huh?" Henry said. He smirked. What the hell did that mean? He barely knew Miranda but he was assuming she'd been unpleasant and that was why Andy was quiet?

"It was good actually." Andy replied, trying not to get angry at him for such an assumption.

Henry looked at her skeptically.

"I've got to keep working on the sketch, actually."

"Andy I-" he tried to say.

She didn't wait t hear what he had to say.

She stood, put her plate in the sink and headed down the hall to her studio.

Henry wouldn't follow her. She knew. He didn't really care enough to come see if she really was alright. She shut the door behind her, and leaned against it. She tried to breathe slowly.

She took one deep breath after the other. Her hand wound unconsciously to her middle. She had to stay calm. For the baby's sake.

She went to sit in the armchair where Miranda had sat earlier. Andy remembered the feel of her soft skin, the emotions flashing in her eyes, her pain. Her spark.

Andy went and picked up a sketch pad and began to draw immediately. She drew for a good two hours straight.

When she was done, she looked at her work. It was a portrait of Miranda, looking at her from under her lashes with unmistakable lust in her eyes.

_'Oh God.'_ Andy thought. _'Miranda Priestly, what have you done to me?'_

-TBC-


	6. Part 6: Beneath What You See

The Painter

Part 6: Beneath What You See

"Beneath it is all dark, it is all spreading, it is unfathomably deep; but now and again we rise to the surface and that is what you see us by." ― Virginia Woolf, _To the Lighthouse_

It was a gloriously sunny morning in New York.

_'Almost like a watercolour painting,'_ Andy mused. Everything seemed so full of promise.

Andy had spent the morning out, buying new brushes and a few fresh canvas' to do a sample of the portrait for Miranda before she came back from Paris Fashion week. She loved to go to SoHo Art Materials, on Gardner Avenue.

She loved the artistic crowd that came and went from the store as she shopped. She loved the bustle and intent in the eyes of the artists as they selected their work mediums and tools with care. But most of all she loved the smell of untouched sketch pad paper, of unopened paint tubes and the clean woody smell of the unused pencils and brushes. It was such a familiar, comforting scent.

She imagined this must be similar to what book lovers obsessed about 'old book smell'. But instead this was 'fresh art supplies smell.' She chuckled to herself. Andy knew she was a little eccentric.

Still, there was something very comforting in the knowledge that she could sit down in front of a blank canvas and pick up a clean bush and paint for hours, escaping from the fast moving world around her. Despite having gotten very little sleep last night, she felt awake, and alive as she exited her town car, thanked her driver and went into her apartment.

Andy actually found herself whistling as she opened the door to her apartment. Henry was at work so she should be home alone for the day, apart from the chef who would come to make her lunch and remind her to eat at about 2 o'clock.

Andy headed for the studio, loot in hand, and set everything down on the settee. She went to search for her sketch pad on her desk among the piles of other sketches, but couldn't find it. Then she remembered she'd brought it to bed last night so she could draw before going to sleep. She went to get it.

As she put a hand on the doorknob to her bedroom she thought she heard Henry's voice making strange noses. But that couldn't be right. Henry wasn't supposed to be home till 9 o'clock tonight. What on earth—

She turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.

"Henry are you alri—" the question lodged in her throat. The covers were moving up and down. She saw a flash of bare skin and let out a yelp.

There were two people in bed having sex. One of them was her husband.

Henry jumped apart from the other person on the bed whom she soon recognized.

"Lily?" She exclaimed. How dare she? _That little bitch—_

"Andy I can explain." Henry tried to say.

No. She didn't want to hear it. She didn't want his explanations.

"How could you? With the baby on the way—" she asked, utterly distraught. She stared at him her mouth slightly open. She couldn't believe he had done this to them.

"She's home today? And you didn't tell me?" Lily gasped at Henry. Henry looked between the two women, completely helpless.

Andy glared at Lily like she wanted to melt the skin off her face.

_"Get out."_ She growled at Lily.

"What, but, I—" she spluttered.

"Get out. Get out_ now_ or so help me God I will make sure you never work in the art industry again." Andy said. Her voice was flat. She felt as though all the emotion she'd had in her had been drained, looking at her cowering husband's face.

Lily grabbed her clothes and ran out of the room.

"Andy please I—" he tried to plead. Oh no. None of that. He didn't deserve to speak, or explain, or try to justify himself. Not with this.

"Shut. Up." Andy enunciated the words clearly.

He shut his mouth. Henry gulped.

"I don't want to hear it Henry. We are through. It's over… I should have seen this coming." Andy frowned, not looking at him.

He was the father of her child. How could her do this to her? To the baby?

Andy shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She was trying not to cry. She'd be damned if she let him see her cry.

"I— I'll leave then. I'm going to pack some bags." Henry said. "I'll come back to pick the rest of my things in a few days."

Andy simply nodded. She felt like something inside of her had been scorched away by this betrayal. The last bit of naivety she'd clung on to blindly, hoping this time that her innocent belief in one single person wouldn't cause her regret…was gone.

Andy wanted to rage. She wanted to give in to the anger burning through her as she watched Henry quickly pack an overnight bag. He grabbed his wallet and keys.

He paused at the bedroom door. Andy's hands were shaking.

"Andy I'm— I'm sorry."

_'No you're not.'_ She spat at him in her mind but she kept her mouth shut tightly instead. _'If you were sorry, if you cared even a bit about me or this baby you would never have done this.'_

She just shook her head soundlessly. He could tell she was upset by her expression, she was sure.

"I'll set up a meeting with our lawyers." He said.

Yes that would be for the best. They would only talk through them from now on. Andy could tell.

"Goodbye Andy." He shut the door behind him and she heard it click with a sound of finality. She looked at the shut door furiously. And then she let a sob pass through her lips. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Damn it Henry. Damn you." Andy muttered furiously to no one.

She wanted to scream but she knew that would be pointless. And bad for the baby. She pressed her palm to her stomach. She ground her teeth together and shut her eyes against the tears she couldn't hold back.

She swiped at the few tears that had managed to escape.

_'Damn it.'_ She swore in her mind. She had to stay calm. She took a deep breath and then another.

She stood up and went back to the studio. She sat in the arm chair opposite to the one Miranda posed in for the portrait. It had been 6 days since she'd sat there last. Miranda was coming back tomorrow. It was part of the reason Andy had been in such a good mood today. Now all the happiness she'd felt earlier had evaporated.

She should have known. It was so obvious looking back. She'd have to call her lawyer.

She decided to do it later. Right now, she needed to paint. She needed to escape.

She went to her shopping bags of new materials and carefully selected her painting tools.

She picked up a brush and began blending color after color. She knew she couldn't possibly get the eyes the right color without her model here, but she could work on other beginnings.

Andy worked tirelessly. She stained her clothes and she was sure her face had a few streaks of paint in it too.

Whatever. That didn't matter. Not right now.

All that mattered right now was the shape of Miranda's shoulder. And then the angles in her chin. And the curves in her mouth. They were all that mattered. All that kept her tethered to the here and now.

She couldn't allow herself to fall back into the depression she'd allowed to have control over her life for the past two years. She was done wallowing in self-pity. There were more important things to think about. Like how many eyelashes Miranda had.

Yes. She was focused on something that wasn't painful. That was good. She fell into her artist's world like a welcome warm bath soothing all the aches in her.

She worked for hours, not noticing till the light from the sky was no longer bright enough to allow her to continue to paint. And then she simply turned the light and continued to paint till her hand began to cramp.

She finally put down her brush. Miranda's face looked back at her from the canvas with the same look of 'almost-but-not-quite-pity' she'd given Andy at the Gallery opening night.

"Please, not that. Not from you." She murmured to the painting, just as she had thought the night she'd seen this look before. She couldn't bear to look at the painting anymore.

Andy dropped her brush on the floor not caring that it spattered paint on the floor.

She went to the master bedroom again and tore off her clothes. She dropped them on the carpet. Andy couldn't care less if the paint stained her clothes or the floor.

She headed into the en-suite bathroom and turned on the shower. She stepped in to the water flow without waiting for it to heat up. Andy hissed quietly as the cold water his her skin. She yanked the knob in the other direction to make it warmer.

It slowly warmed up. Eventually the water became so warm Andy was sure her skin would be red when she got out. But she needed to scrub everything off. The paint, her tears, her lingering pain. She couldn't have a drink. This was the next best alternative. This vague sense of pain that wasn't pain.

Andy scrubbed at her skin till it was raw and red. She finally felt clean. Then, all her energy left her and she let herself lean against the shower tiles and slid down the wall of the shower till she was sitting on the floor.

The stream of water pounded her legs and the tile behind her was cold. She let her head rest on her knees and at last she let herself cry a few tears. Not too many. Just a few. She couldn't allow any more than that.

At last when the water turned cold again she stepped out of the stream. She grabbed a towel and dried off quickly.

Then she went into the bedroom and realized she felt like burning the bed. Or throwing up. Or a combination of both. But she did neither.

She got into a pair of roomy pj's. Then Andy grabbed a spare comforter from the closet and a pillow and went back to the studio and crawled onto the settee, infinitely glad she'd gotten such a big size.

She closed her eyes, and tried to sleep. Instead she tossed and turned and fell in and out of consciousness. She woke up twice during the night.

Miranda. She was coming back tomorrow…Andy'd made sure to book an appointment with Emily for the day Miranda returned because according the redhead she took a week off from any work related situations after fashion week whenever possible.

Emily had yet to confirm the appointment with her, but Andy hoped Miranda would accept to see her for an hour before taking her time off officially. Or maybe she'd think of the painting session as non-work related enough to validate coming anyways. Andy hoped she would still get to see Miranda at least once this week.

The last thing she remembered thinking before falling asleep till morning was, _'At least Miranda will be back tomorrow.' _

* * *

Andy woke up to her phone ringing on the coffee table beside her. She reached out and answered thoughtlessly.

"Hello?" she said, her voice still filled with the roughness of sleep.

"Good morning Andrea. I'll be available at 3:30pm today for an hour and a half. Will that be sufficient?" Miranda's cool voice said from the phone at her ear.

Andy gasped and all at once sat up as though Miranda were in the room with her.

"M-Miranda, you're back in town." Andy heard her huff irritably and could almost see her roll her eyes at Andy's still half asleep babble. "Yes, yes, 3:30pm sounds perfect."

"I'll see you then." Miranda hung up without waiting for her reply. Andy blinked hard, and rubbed at her eyes. She huffed and willed herself to be more awake.

She looked at her phone to check the time; high noon. Wow, she really had managed sleep for a long time. But to be fair she hadn't slept well at all. She'd have to make sure to call the maid service and get them to clean the bedroom sometime today.

She should definitely be sleeping in a bed. This settee couldn't be good for her back. Or come to think of it her neck. Or the baby for that matter. She touched her hand to the bump that had become a bit more visible lately. Andy marveled at the little being whose existence was only made known by this bump and a few tests.

She sighed and murmured, "Good morning baby." The books she'd read had said that the baby would be able to hear her now. She was at almost 17 weeks after all.

It was very strange for Andy to be going through this a second time. The first time she'd been ecstatic. This time, she felt…terrified. She pressed her hand on her baby bump again to reassure herself the baby was really there.

Then she felt a kick.

"Oh!" she gasped and her eyes widened. The baby had kicked. She looked at her stomach in awe. This might be her second time but she certainly was still in awe of that sensation. It was about time for it to happen. It was a relief. This was the first time she'd felt the baby kick.

"Oh, wow." Andy sighed. "You're awake huh? Are you hungry kiddo?" She asked. The baby kicked again and Andy gasped again. Andy wasn't sure if she could call the movement she felt a kick or not. It felt more like butterflies in her stomach. Andy wondered if the baby liked the sound of her voice.

She smiled to herself. It was a familiar motherly smile that she hadn't felt creep up on her in a very long time. Although officially only two years had passed, this was currently the third year since Ethan had died. The smile fell from her face immediately upon thinking of _him._ The child she had lost. A sharp ache formed in her chest and she fought back tears.

_'Not this time. Not again. I won't lose this one.' _She thought to herself fiercely. _'I can't.'_

She checked when her next appointment with her doctor would be on her phone's calendar. This Friday. Alright. She could deal with it. She'd gone alone last time and she'd do it again.

She took a deep breathe. She needed to get ready for Miranda's session. The studio needed to be cleaned up a bit at least and she needed to get dressed and she certainly needed to eat and take her vitamins. And tea sounded like a very good idea.

She looked at the partially finished water color portrait on the canvas and at Miranda's expression in the picture. She quickly grabbed one of her spare tarps and threw it over the painting.

Miranda certainly didn't need to see that painting.

* * *

She'd cleaned up the studio, and had called the maid to pack everything in the bedroom up. Andy thought she'd best get the maid to wear plastic gloves and put the sheets in an air tight container. She knew this would be important for the divorce argument.

Andy's old instincts had kicked in and she'd become her father's daughter as she had planned her next moves out. She knew Henry would probably just cave in and allow her the divorce. But…it never hurt to be prepared.

Three fifteen eventually came around on the clock in the kitchen and Andy was just finishing her first cup of non-caffeinated buckwheat tea. She hummed in satisfaction. Then the doorbell rang and Andy got up and went to open the door.

"Hello Miranda. How was your trip?" Andy asked. Her voice was steady and she tried to sound normal. What would Miranda care whether or not she and Henry were getting a divorce? Or that the baby had kicked for the first time today? No, she probably wouldn't care at all. Andy took a deep breath, quietly and sighed imperceptibly.

"Tiring." Miranda replied without a moment's pause. She turned around and Andy obediently helped her out of her coat, careful this time not to touch her neck or any part of her.

It wouldn't do. Not now. Andy needed to be focused. Miranda's presence alone was certainly unsettling enough without remembering how much Andy enjoyed the softness of Miranda's skin. Or that she was questioning her sexuality because of the woman standing in front of her.

"Oh really?" Andy said trying not to blush just thinking about this woman's skin against the fur of the coat she was hanging up. "Was it terribly busy?" Andy asked as she placed one shoulder of Miranda's grey fur coat on the hanger. She thought it might be rabbit fur or maybe some kind of small furry rodent type animal. The fur was luxuriously soft. It was an Alexander Wang creation, Andy noted.

"I'm not surprised you don't know. Fashion doesn't really interest you after all." Andy opened her mouth to protest that the company invested in many industries including Fashion, but Miranda continued, "Fall fashion week is the busiest time of the year for the fashion industry." Miranda replied.

"Oh, well. You must be tired." Andy nearly bit her tongue at her own inability to keep such personal comments out of their conversation.

Miranda looked her up and down and nodded once, before continuing. She liked Andy's outfit. A simple Zac Posen black suit pan and a DKNY cerulean wrap around cowl neck sweater. The sweater stretched and was very comfortable. Andy supposed she'd have to get Lily to—no. Not Lily. Never again would Lily work for her. She'd have to hire a personal shopper to buy bigger maternity clothes soon.

"When did you get back?" she asked to cover up her slip.

"At some obscenely late hour last night." Miranda said, looking anywhere but her face. So they were back to this were they? Not looking at each other. Right. Nothing had 'happened' last time. Nothing would 'happen' this time.

"Mmm." She almost added, 'That's never fun,' but thought better of it. Miranda would most certainly not appreciate the sentiment.

Andy said, "Would you like a cup of tea before we begin?"

"What kind are you making?" Miranda asked. She followed Andy down the entrance corridor.

"Buckwheat." Andy replied as she walked towards the kitchen.

"Yes, I'll have a cup. The girls enjoy it. No caffeine in it I suppose?"

"No, no caffeine. Decaf is always best for—"

"For pregnant women." Miranda interrupted her. "Yes I know. I do have twin girls in case you'd forgotten."

"Of course not." Andy said, "Although I've never met them."

Miranda hmph'd. "No you haven't. You've never had the occasion too."

"How old are they now?" Andy dared to ask. Miranda was notoriously private and even more so when it came to her children. Andy wondered if she hadn't crossed some invisible line when Miranda looked at her oddly. As though she were evaluating Andy's level of sincerity in asking after her children.

"Cassidy and Caroline are turning ten in December." She replied after a moment's pause. Apparently she judged that Andy was sincere enough to warrant an answer

Andy handed Miranda a mug of the tea. Miranda sniffed it inconspicuously. Andy suppressed a smirk. Her girls liked it, but Andy would bet her favorite louboutin's that she'd never actually tried it. She pressed her lips together trying not to smile at her.

Miranda took a sip. Then she sighed almost imperceptibly. She liked it. Good. This time Andy couldn't hold back a smile. She turned quickly and took her cup and led Miranda to the studio. She doubted Miranda had noticed her smiling.

But maybe she had because Miranda seemed to be holding back a smirk of her own, when Andy saw her take a seat in her usual chair.

She noticed Miranda was once again wearing a different outfit today. Five inch white Manolo Blahnik stilettos. No surprise there. A pink, intricate, lace covered v neck sheath that cut just above the knee, paired with a light cashmere cardigan in taupe. The cardigan tied in an intricate knot at her hip.

It was quite flashy and bold with different shades of pink one on top of the other, the lace giving it a particular flair. The pink tones brought a good deal of color to her face, making her appear very lively today. Once again Miranda was hiding all, but at the same time not hiding at all.

That reminded her— "Miranda have you considered which outfit you'd prefer to be in permanently for the portrait?" Andy asked.

"No." Miranda said. "I haven't." Her lips pressed together in a thin line.

"If you could decide on one permanent outfit to wear at the sessions coming up that would be much appreciated. Today I'll start work on a first attempt on a canvas with paint. This is just a sample but for future reference it would be best if you had Emily messenger over an outfit so that you can change back when we are done with the session instead of having to wear the same outfit once a week."

"Yes, I'll let Emily know when I've chosen one."

"And," she continued, "A specific hour and place should also be decided on. For the light in the painting you understand. Morning, noon and evening all have different levels of light."

"I see." And paused to consider this, "I'll tell Emily to inform you once I've compiled a list of suitable options." Miranda said at last. She might be famous for her snap decisions but this time she'd make sure to think on it.

"Alright." Andy reach out to pose her then paused, "May I?" she lifted her palms open in a motion that could have been almost pleading. Maybe too close to pleading for Andy's liking.

Andy didn't appreciate having to admit that she wanted to feel Miranda's face against her palm again despite all her misgivings. She was still evaluating her sexuality after all. The more she questioned the more questions she came up with.

"If I said no would that stop you?" 'Miranda asked eyeing her.

"Yes." Andy replied immediately. She'd never touch Miranda without her permission. What an odd thing to ask. Why would she..? Unless someone had? That just couldn't be true…could it? Andy didn't have time to ponder this more before Miranda spoke again.

"Continue." Miranda said and lifted her head to give Andy better access.

Andy gently guided Miranda into the position for the portrait, this time refusing to linger on her face any more than absolutely necessary. She focused on keeping her touch purely professional.

It was probably one of the most difficult things she'd ever done. She wanted…what did she want? She wasn't entirely sure she knew. She wanted to touch Miranda's jaw. To rub her thumb against her lips, to watch her eyes shut in a soft gasp as she did so.

Yes, that was what she wanted.

But more than that, she wanted to press those lips against her own. Andy removed her hand too quickly as she thought that traitorous thought consciously.

She'd never wanted to kiss another woman before. Miranda was, as Andy was beginning to discover, the exception to many of her own rules.

Miranda arched a sculpted eyebrow questioning the swift motion.

Andy shook her head and finished posing her.

"There." Andy murmured. That was the place that she'd been posed at all these past sessions. Andy had once again found the exact position that would make Miranda appear to be caught in a moment of time. She moved that one rebellious lock of hair to where it had been the first time they'd done a sitting. Miranda flinched slightly but again said nothing.

She pulled back immediately. But no matter what Andy did she couldn't seem to stop thinking about kissing Miranda or the look she'd had in her eyes the last time Andy had posed her.

She went back to her easel where she place a large blank canvas. She began to blend the colors for Miranda's skin tone.

* * *

Slowly, the minutes passed and turned into half an hour before Andy finally paused in her work. She'd gotten the base of Miranda's shape etched out, but it still needed a lot more work.

Andy stretched her shoulder a bit and asked. "Time for a break?"

Miranda nodded and stood up.

"Water?" Andy proposed. She noticed Miranda hadn't finished her tea, but it was cold now.

Miranda nodded once more, still not looking directly at Andy for more than a few seconds at a time. This was getting to be slightly obnoxious. They hadn't done anything wrong the last session. So why couldn't Miranda look at her properly?

As was becoming their habit now Andy left the room to fetch Miranda some water.

She returned to the studio, glass of water in hand. She almost dropped it when she caught sight of what Miranda was looking at. To her dismay Miranda had lifted the tarp and was looking at the partial portrait she'd done last night. The tarp had been dropped to the ground carelessly. Miranda stood staring at the portrait of herself with furrowed brows. Andy wondered if she recognized the expression. Or when Andy had actually see it.

"Miranda—"

"What is this Andrea?" Miranda murmured. She was holding back her emotions, or probably more accurately suffocating them with her tight hold on them. Fuck. Andy's thought's scrambled. How would she explain this?

"An attempt a creating a sample before you returned from Paris." Andy said after recovering slightly from the shock. Andy set the glass of water down on the coffee table, fearing that she might actually drop it. Her hands were shaking. Why did she have to see this painting? The one she'd hoped Miranda would never see.

"That's not what I meant." Miranda snapped.

She gapped at her, at a loss. "I'm sorry I don't—"

"I asked you what this is. It would be self-evident to an infant that this is an attempt at portraying me." Miranda said, her voice turning sharp, annoyed at Andy's lack of immediate compliance. "Now explain to me what this _really _is."

_'Oh. That's what she meant…'_ Andy thought. She bit the inside of her cheek.

"I was upset last night." She muttered.

"Elaborate." Miranda said when it was clear Andy wouldn't speak without being prodded.

She wondered how much she should tell Miranda. How much would she want to hear? How much would she be willing to hear before getting sick of her and deem her a pathetic little person, full of self-pity and egotism? Andy swallowed hard.

"I found out that my husband was cheating on me… I found him in bed with another woman." Andy continued. She couldn't look Miranda in the eye. So she looked anywhere but her eyes. The arch of her neck. The crook of her arm. Her waist and the cardigan's knot tied there. Her eyes stung but she refused to give sway to the tears that threatened.

Miranda's sharp intake of breath was enough to know she hadn't wanted that many details. Too bad. The flood gates had opened. Miranda had wanted to know? Andy would tell her.

"It was my assistant, Lily. I yelled at her to get out of the apartment and she did. He—" She stopped and took a deep shuddering breath. Why was she explaining all this? Why wasn't Miranda stopping her? She couldn't possibly care…could she? Andy didn't dare to hope.

"He left with an overnight bag. I told him we were over…I'm getting a divorce."

Miranda's eyes shut and she sighed.

Andy continued undeterred, "I should have seen this coming. How _stupid_ could I be? I mean it certainly wouldn't take a genius to notice all the late nights at work and the way Lily stared at him—"

"Andrea. _Stop._" Miranda ordered. Andy shut her mouth immediately. There was something so comforting in having someone strong tell her what to do. 'Stop'. She could do that. So she did.

"Alright. Good. Now. What does this painting have to do with any of that?" Miranda asked.

She'd come to stand in front of Andy, looking her in the eyes. Searching for the answers in her face again. When would Miranda learn that Andy's face was anything but an open book? Her father had taught her never to show her emotions to anyone she thought might use them against her.

'Good'. Miranda had said. Finally she'd done something right.

"I was upset." Andy murmured, "I paint when I'm upset. Your face was the only one that came to mind. I kept seeing your face the night of the gallery opening. That expression in particular. It baffled me. It still does. Why did you look at me like that?" Andy asked rhetorically, still not looking at Miranda. She in turn said nothing.

"Was it pity? Please don't say it was pity. But what else could it have been?" Andy asked more to herself than to Miranda. "That question kept bothering me while I painted last night. This is what came out of it. I'm sorry you had to see it. I should have thrown it out."

"No!" Miranda said forcefully. She paused. "No," she said again more calmly, "Don't. That would be pointless so just...I— "

Andy was willing to bet that very few people ever saw Miranda Priestly at a loss for words, much less actually _flustered._ After a few moments of looking away from Andy she eventually managed to compose herself.

"Andrea, your husband is a fool if he doesn't see just how _lucky,_ he is to have you for a wife." Miranda said. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Andy couldn't cover the scoffing sound she made. Lucky. Ha. No one would consider themselves lucky to have her. She was a mess. Unstable. Wasn't that what everyone thought of her anyways?

The look she saw Miranda give then her was not one filled with a sharp annoyance, as Andy had expected. It was worryingly close to the expression on the canvas behind them. Andy looked away at once. She just couldn't bear it, to see _that look_ directed at her.

"Please don't. Don't look at me like that. I don't need your pity—"

"I don't pity you Andrea."

"Then why?" Andy murmured, finally looking Miranda in the eye.

"I— I suppose I feel a kind of empathy." Miranda said. Andy could have sworn she saw Miranda's face flush with just the barest hint of pink.

"Oh." Andy let out a rush of air. She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath.

"Yes, 'oh'." Miranda replied. She looked away and this time Andy was sure she was blushing. She was embarrassed. Miranda wasn't usually one to make personal comments. So why had she? Andy really couldn't understand her sometimes.

She felt the baby kick again. Andy gasped and Miranda looked at her alarmed. "It's nothing. The baby started kicking today. That's all."

"Congratulations Andrea." Miranda said. The look in her eyes was something bordering on gentle. Andy had never seen _that_ look before. It, in contrast, was nothing like the one she'd painted on the canvas. It was much softer. Almost strangely so.

_'Such beautiful eyes. So much emotion. They change constantly.' _Andy thought.

Andy took a deep breath, as she felt the baby squirm around some more. It was a distracting but comforting sensations as well. Her baby was fine. So was she. For now.

Miranda looked at her watch.

"We should continue don't you think?" Miranda said glancing at the partial canvas they had only just begun. It had been about 30 minutes since they'd agreed to take a break. Shit. They really had to stop doing this, Andy mused. Letting things 'happen' even though nothing really 'happened'…so to speak.

Andy stood and went back to her canvas. She picked up her brush in time to see Miranda sit in the armchair. Miranda looked at her expectantly. Right. Time to pose Miranda again.

_'Focus Andy.'_ She thought.

Andy went towards Miranda and reached out to pose her, only noticing to late the paint brush still in her hand. Before she could pull her hand back, the paint brush smudged up against Miranda's cardigan and her dress. A large dollop of paint spread across the fabric of the sheath and the cardigan. Andy gasped, and pulled away immediately. "Shit" she swore under her breath.

Miranda gasped too and jerked back from Andy's brush. But it was too late. The damage had been done. A brownish beige splotch of undiluted paint stained Miranda's cardigan.

Andy immediately began to apologize profusely. "Oh my God, Miranda I am so sorry, of course I'll—" Andy could hardly breathe.

"Andrea. Calm down. Sit." Andy obeyed Miranda without question once again. "Don't have a panic attack for God's sake." Miranda gestured at her splotch and at her dress. "This is nothing. Nothing that can't be easily replaced. In fact…" she opened her cellphone and called Emily.

"Emily, get me another sample of the Notte pink Marchesa sheath I was wearing today and the Thakoon carding in taupe as well. Have them messengered over to Andrea's before the end of our session. That's all. " She didn't wait to the red head's reply.

Andy blinked at Miranda abrupt method of giving orders to her assistant. She liked it. Logical, impersonal and practical. Andy could definitely take a page out of her book. Huh. Who would have thought?

That reminded her, she'd have to hire a new assistant. What a tedious business. But it wasn't as though she could to forgive Lily for what she'd done. Therefore a new assistant was necessary.

She looked at the stained material of Miranda's beautiful dress and grimaced apologetically. She'd really ruined it, accidentally or not, it was no longer wearable.

"I really am sor—" Andy tried to say.

"Oh for Pete's sake don't apologize again." Miranda interrupted her.

Andy had expected Miranda to be absolutely livid with her. But there was no anger in her eyes. Just a vague sense of annoyance. Andy went to put the brush down at her easel before another accident happened. She passed a hand over her face in exasperation at herself. Today was not her day.

_'Dear God the effect this woman has on me. It's unprecedented.'_ Andy thought. When she looked up at Miranda she noticed the paint had managed to spread to the edge of Miranda's neckline. The paint was on her skin. Shit.

Andy stifled a groan seeing it there, marring her pale skin. Damn. She'd have to tell her it was there, she couldn't just let it dry. It would be a real pain to get it off at that point.

"Miranda—" Andy hesitated. How on earth would a person put such a thing politely?

"Yes?" she asked impatiently.

"There is paint on your neck." She said in a rush. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.

"What?" She touched her neck and her fingers came away with the paint on them. "Oh." She sounded less than impressed.

"I'll get you a wet cloth. The paint should come off easily since it hasn't dried yet." Before Miranda could protest, Andy went to the bathroom. She grabbed a small towel, wet it a bit and came back. Andy held out the towel.

Instead of taking it, Miranda tilted her head, expecting Andy to wipe it off for her.

Oh God. Andy's breath caught in her throat.

Despite her shock, she didn't miss a beat. Andy pressed the cool wet cloth to Miranda's neck line and deftly began swiping away the paint. It had already started to dry, slightly. This would take a few minutes. Miranda flinched a bit at the wet cold towel touching her skin but she let Andy continue.

Andy couldn't help but notice how close they were. She could almost feel the heat radiating off her. Miranda's breath hitched when Andy continued down closer to the top of her cleavage where the paint had leaked down in streaks.

Andy on the other hand continued cleaning Miranda's skin off, almost reverently.

Andy bit her lip, concentrating on the task at hand so to speak.

The baby kicked, this time hard and Andy gasped. Miranda turned to look at her sharply and ended up not an inch away from Andy's face. They were so close Andy could feel her breathe.

_'Oh God…'_ Andy thought. Miranda's eyes were so grey and cool today.

The baby kicked again and Andy gasped and let a hand fall to her middle.

"The baby is again kicking. Sorry." Andy almost whispered.

"It's fine." Miranda replied softly. Neither of them had pulled away. They were so close. So close to touching.

A moment passed between them where neither of them spoke but the tension between them was so thick it could have been cut with a knife.

Finally Andy turned her face away, unable to bear being so close to Miranda and not being allowed _more._

Miranda watched Andy, observing her with an uncanny scrutiny. Andy glanced up from under lashes periodically at Miranda as she continued to clean off the remnants of the paint.

"I think I got most of it."

"Yes." Miranda murmured. She checked her Swarovski watch again.

There was a ringing sound from the door monitor at the front door.

Andy quickly went to get it calling behind her, "It's probably for your outfit."

Andy opened the door to see a messenger holding a plastic covered hanger and a signature pad. Miranda had followed behind Andy.

"Miss Priestly?" the messenger man asked.

"Yes that's me." Miranda replied.

"Sign here please." He said.

Miranda signed quickly and Andy stepped forward to take the hanger from the man.

The man left and they both went back down the hall. "You can change in the bathroom." Andy pointed out the correct door. She handed Miranda the clothes. Miranda took them from her and her fingers brushed against Andy's as she did. Andy shivered.

Miranda headed in to the bathroom. Andy waited outside, patiently.

A few minutes passed and Miranda reemerged from the bathroom dressed in the new outfit. But she hadn't put on the cardigan.

She turned her back to Andy and looked over her should and said, "Would you zip me up?"

Andy's eyes widened but she still managed to say, "Y-yes. Of course." Andy gulped.

She gripped the zipper and slid it up slowly. Her knuckles brushed the skin of Miranda's bare back and she felt Miranda shudder.

Andy clenched her teeth together to prevent herself from gasping.

She finished zipping her up and took a step back to allow Miranda to turn around.

Miranda turned around. Andy didn't think it was a good idea to look Miranda in the eye right now. She might see something in Andy's eyes that she really hadn't bargained for.

_'Damn. This woman is just trying to give me a heart attack isn't she?' _Andy thought.

Miranda checked her watch again. Andy saw the time. Shit. Almost 4:30pm. And they had hardly progressed with the painting at all.

"I suggest we meet twice more this week. To compensate for the lost time because of fashion week and this incident today. The painting really should be advancing at a smoother pace than this." Miranda said lightly.

"Oh, um yes." Andy was flabbergasted by her proposal and trying her best not to show it. She'd get to see Miranda twice more this week? God only knew what would 'happen' then. This could either be a genius idea, or a very, very bad idea.

But despite her misgivings she still said, "Alright. Tell your assistant to call me and let me know what times would be best for you this week."

Miranda just nodded. "I should go. Stephen will be home soon." And just like that Andy felt as though Miranda had thrown a wet blanket on her.

Andy sighed. "Of course. I'll walk you out."

At the door Miranda waited for Andy to get her coat. Andy almost handed it directly to her but thought better of it.

She held it and just like the last time, Miranda slipped into it. Andy's finger touched her neck again.

"Alright. Well, have a good evening." Andy said. Miranda turned to look at her.

"Yes," Miranda said, her voice clipped. "Same to you." And then she was out the door and gone in the blink of an eye.

Andy went back to the kitchen and sat at the stool at the serving island. "Christ. _That woman._"

-TBC-


	7. Part 7 The Flames The Forge & The Hammer

The Painter

Part 7: The Flames, The Forge And The Hammer

_"The good Lord made us all out of iron. Then he turns up the heat to forge some of us into steel." — _Marie Osmond

Andy tossed and turned on her newly acquired bed. It felt strange without someone sleeping on the other side.

She'd had the old one put into storage, the day after Miranda's last session.

There was a strange kind of cold that had seeped into her bones recently.

She couldn't seem to stop being cold all the time. Her feet and hands in particular felt perpetually chilled.

Andy wrapped herself in the blankets even tighter and shut her eyes in defiance of the elusiveness of the peace she longed for. Sleep was being a fickle bitch tonight. Andy heaved an annoyed sigh.

What she wouldn't give to be back in Italy, in her beloved Florence, enjoying the sun, instead of freezing in cold, lonely New-York.

November always had been one of her least favourite months. Too cold to be pleasant most days, yet not cold enough to be called winter yet and therefore warrant the wearing of fashionable winter clothes. Ones that actually kept people warm, instead of those flimsy fall clothes that after a month or so offered no protections whatsoever against the damp cold of the November rains.

Finally after another 15 minutes of grappling with the covers and her own discomfort she relented and got up.

She went to the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea. She sat at her serving island and leaned on her elbows. She sipped at her green tea, relishing the heat it radiated through her. Her fingers curled around the mug, enjoying the heat it imparted to her ever cold hands.

Andy finished her cup and went to turn up the heat before finally heading back to the bed. Andy looked up at the ceiling to begin another starring match, one which if she was lucky, she would quickly loose.

She wasn't lucky.

Henry hadn't called. He hadn't even come back for his things yet. It had been two days.

Not a word.

Did he even care? Or was he relieved? Andy honestly didn't know.

She'd never thought Henry would have it in him to betray her like he had. He'd been kind to her once. It was what had drawn them together, much to the delight of everyone around them.

Andy's father had always told her, "Find someone who can run the company well, make him family and then you can paint your silly pictures for the rest of your days." She could still hear her father's voice in her mind saying those words to a 12 year old Andy after the death of her mother. Any softness that Andy's mom had found in her father had died with her and her lung cancer.

Andy'd taken that knowledge to heart, even at such a tender age. She longed to be free to paint. But it wasn't meant to be. She had responsibilities, as her father was so fond of reminding her.

Andy loved her father, she really did. He was a cold, strong man, who'd lost his beloved wife and didn't really know what to do with his teenage daughter. He had Andy packed off to a boarding school in London. Andy could almost roll her eyes at all the blatant stereotypes her relationship with her father embodied.

Andy and her father never talked about her mother, after she died. It was too painful for him. Some days her father couldn't bear to look at her and for the longest time Andy had wondered why that was. Had she done something wrong? But when she finally found pictures of her mother years later she realised just how much they looked alike and felt awful for her father.

But her father was not one to be pitied or even sympathized with. He never remarried.

Andy had always wondered if he'd wished she'd been a boy instead of a girl. He'd placed his expectations on her from an early age, and despite it all they still loved each other, in their own awkward way. So she'd done her damned best at school and became quite formidable in her own right as she took the helm of the family company.

By the time she was 25 she'd been running the company under her father's guidance for 4 years.

She hated it. She had hated every damn minute of it. But her father was not to be disobeyed.

She met Henry that year when the Goldman's had started agreements for the merger of Sachs and Co. and Goldman and Co.

She'd married Henry Goldman and had Ethan that same year… And then her world was crushed like a glass being smashed by a hammer. Mercilessly. Hundreds of irreparable unrecognisable pieces, her life broken, never to be fixed again. Her sanity hanging by a shred.

Ethan was dead. Nothing mattered anymore.

She'd thought she'd never be capable of facing the world again. Henry had tried to be supportive but it hadn't helped. The only thing that had helped was her painting.

Her escape.

But it wasn't enough.

Everywhere Andy looked she was reminded of the loss she had suffered.

She tried to kill herself. Twice. She failed both times.

It was only Henry's defence of her and her paintings that kept her out of a psychiatric hospital.

Henry suffered too. But instead of letting out his emotions he drowned them in alcohol.

He still did.

Finally Andy couldn't handle it anymore. They decided to separate willingly for a time. She fled to Florence and signed up for a prestigious art program there. She garnered a lot of attention with her portraits. When she landed a portrait deal with a few celebrities across the pond that had been when the world had truly begun to notice her.

Andy finished the six month program and opened a gallery in Paris. She found some semblance of sanity, the more she painted. She was still anti-social and depressed but she was no longer suicidal.

Henry visited her in both Florence and Paris, twice a month for a few days at a time. He still drank too often. But he was Andy's safety net and he did a good job at being there to catch her as much as he could. Andy couldn't fault him for that. So Andy ignored his drinking problem so long as he was there for her.

They never loved each other.

Their fathers had basically shoved them together and eventually they had caved in to the expectations set on them. They both knew that.

Andy never told Henry she loved him. Not once. Because she didn't.

Henry had tried to say it, but Andy had cut him off and told him he only wished he loved her. It was true. He wished that he did. But he didn't and they slowly accepted that their marriage was one of convenience and not one of love.

They were friends and partners of sorts. And sometimes lovers. It was mostly out of a need for comfort that they chose to be lovers. They feared the accusations a lack of monogamy could cause, and their prenup prevented any form of adultery, consensual on the part of both parties or not, on pain of losing everything they owned.

Her father officially retired and let Henry take over as CEO the year she turned 27.

The irony was lost on her when he died a month after he retired. A car crash. It had been terribly strange for her to think of her indomitable father as someone who could be hurt or killed so easily. But he had been.

Andy touched a hand to her baby bump. Her father would never get to see either of her children grow up. At least her father had seen Ethan before he'd died. He'd been so pleased. Andy could still see his smile as he played with her baby boy.

Some days Andy almost wished she could believe in a God, and in heaven. But she couldn't bring herself to. Because if there was a heaven where the dead went to be reunited, the thought of dying would be far too tempting for Andy. She'd lost so many people in her life. And now she was losing Henry too.

She felt the baby move and she sighed. If she lost this baby…she couldn't even contemplate how she would survive it. Simply because she knew she wouldn't. But, so long as this child was alive, she would live. She could never willingly do what her mother had done accidentally to her child.

Would this baby be a boy or a girl? How much would Henry be involved? Andy wouldn't deny him the right to see the child, but she couldn't abide him being around it while he was still drinking.

Andy wished her mother had still been alive. Allegra Sachs' advice had always been sound, even when Andy had been just a young girl. And she wished her mother had gotten the chance to see her child—children, Andy corrected herself. She wished Ethan had never died. She couldn't help tearing up thinking of her little boy, gripping her fingers and looking up at her so intently with curious blue eyes— a sob escaped her. '_Damn it.'_ She thought.

Andy covered her face with her hands and groaned. This was why she used to take sleeping pills. Late night trips down memory lane never led anywhere pleasant.

She could still see his face in her mind, clear as day. And if she closed her eyes she could smell his clean new-baby smell. Andy didn't try to hold back the tears that came sliding down her face. She curled up on herself and touched her baby bump. What would it be like when this child arrived? What if it was another boy? How would she cope? Would she see Ethan's face in this new child's features? Would they be alike in temperament?

"Oh God." Andy sobbed. "Oh please no." She didn't want to be constantly comparing both children. What would that do to the child, if she couldn't help herself?

The memories she had worked so hard to bury came out of their dark corner in her mind and tormented her.

Ethan's mouth open as he slept, Ethan gulping down his milk hungrily, Ethan making adorable noises as Henry baby talked to him, Ethan falling asleep in her arms as she sang a lullaby to him.

She lay there curled up on the new bed, and sobbed for a while, quietly whimpering with each memory that crept up on her.

She felt the baby kick, almost as if to protest that she was upset. Andy took a few deep breaths. She stood up again. Apparently sleep wasn't going to happen for a while yet. She headed for her studio. Painting seemed like a good idea. Ungodly hour or no. She needed to not think for a while.

Andy walked past the room she dreaded most in the flat. The one that had made her almost sell this flat. She paused in front of the door, her hand on the door handle

Andy rarely went in _the nursery_. She couldn't bear all the memories it brought back. She hadn't been able to get rid of the baby things still in there. But now that she was certain of her pregnancy, she would likely have to go into that room eventually. Or maybe she'd get her eventual still-to-be-hired-non-existent-yet, new assistant to take care of the renovations. There had to be renovations. It was hard to accept but it would be rather macabre to have a different child in the cradle of a dead one.

She took her courage with both hands and opened the door. She turned on the light.

Andy flinched seeing the empty crib.

She slowly walked into the room, glancing around at the toys still left on the shelves and the baby clothes in their baskets. The curtains with a forest pattern on them were still there, covering the large window. The walls painted with a pastel dark green paint and a tree design on the far wall with framed pictures of Ethan hung on each painted branch. Andy felt her head spin and she leaned against the nearest object. Her hand fell on the arm of the oak rocking chair her father had given her as a congratulations present.

She sat down in the chair, unable to support herself, with all the painful emotions flooding her mind. Why had she come in here? Was she a masochists now? Everywhere she looked, one name kept running through her mind. _"Ethan."_ She whispered through the inescapable tears still leaving trails as they dripped down her cheeks.

"I don't know if I can do this again." Andy murmured, to the empty room. She swayed in the rocker, back and forth, memories of their son in her arms washing over her in bitter waves. So much happiness. So much loss.

The baby kicked again. Suddenly Andy knew she would do it all again. She would design the nursery herself, she would go and find maternity wear herself and she would take care of herself and this child. She had to. There was no other option.

Andy would hold herself together through it all. She would do it for herself and for this new baby.

Eventually Andy left the nursery room and went back to her new bed. She didn't fall asleep right away but after about an hour or so, the sandman finally came for a visit.

* * *

Andy was awakened by the baby kicking at about 9am the next morning.

"So you're awake huh? I bet you're hungry. Me too." Andy murmured to the squirming baby.

She got up and went to the kitchen. She checked the fridge and saw what her chef had bought for the week. Marina had been with Andy and Henry for about three years now. She made super a few nights a week and she also stocked the fridge for the other meals Andy and Henry might or might not make during the week. Their schedules were always unstable but they were— _had been,_ Andy corrected her own thought, pretty good about having dinner together at home a few times a week. Obviously that wouldn't be the case anymore.

She made toast and sliced up some melon. She took her prenatal vitamin. She made buckwheat tea. The taste reminded her of Miranda's first time trying it. She would have to call Emily and set up the next sessions for this week.

She would see Miranda twice more this week. Andy sighed and put down her toast. She didn't know what to do. She… _wanted_ Miranda. Andy'd thought of herself as straight for so long that it was very strange for her to contemplate the reality of her attraction towards Miranda.

She'd been so sure she was straight… apparently not. Meeting Miranda had made her realize things about herself that she'd never questioned before.

She sipped at her tea, enjoying the smell of it as she drank. She put her cup down and glanced at her cellphone on the counter.

No calls yet.

Damn it, Henry was going to make her call him wasn't he? It would be a very Henry like thing to do. He always had been a bit of coward when it came to fighting her on anything.

She and Henry were getting a divorce. The reality of that fact washed over her.

"God," she breathed. Why was it that whenever Andy's life changed, it happened in huge shifts all at once, instead of in increments? Was that normal? Maybe it was just her. She really didn't know.

She should drop by the gallery for a few hours today, see how sales were going and check up on Gisele since she was now in charge of running the gallery till Andy hired a new 'Lily'. She'd have to look for one and soon.

Andy couldn't understand Lily's reasoning for sleeping with Henry. But then she'd never understood how anyone could be unfaithful in a relationship, love or no love. She'd thought she and Henry had had it pretty good. That they'd reached a point in their lives where, ok, admittedly they didn't love each other, not in the traditional way, but they were friends and good partners. Most of the time.

Even though it was true Henry got on Andy's nerves quite often. But he'd chosen to break their agreement and at the same time, break her trust.

It was almost ironic to think that if Henry had actually talked to Andy about wanting to have a lover, or openly chosen to separate himself from her cleanly, things would have undoubtedly been different. She might have forgiven him for leaving her. She might even have considered letting him have a lover while remaining married…if they hadn't had a child involved.

But as things stood now, he'd been sleazy about the whole ordeal. He'd chosen the worst partner, and if Andy was being completely honest with herself, the most clichéd one as well. If only he'd been honest with her… They might have stayed friends.

It was the secrecy and the trust broken between them that Andy resented most. They'd had a child together for Christ's sake. They were having another one despite having taken precautions. Had he even thought about what his adultery would do to Andy and the baby?

She glanced at her phone again. She was going to have to call him. It had been two days after all.

He needed new clothes and she was ready for him to get out of the flat. Seeing his belongings everywhere only made it more difficult for Andy to think of anything but the impending divorce or her past.

She picked up the phone and called Henry's cell.

He picked up.

"Hello Andy." He sounded apprehensive. With good reason. Andy nearly snorted.

"Hello…" There was an awkward pause. Was there still room for politeness in the shred of their relationship? "You should come by to pick up your things. I'll be at the gallery for a while. It would be best if you came while I am not here." she said.

"Yes, alright, I'll do that…Andy I am sorry—" he tried to say.

"Henry. Please." She cut him off. She couldn't hear his apologies right now. Not when she knew his sentiment would probably be a lie. "We've been through so much together I—" she paused and took steadying breath. "It's been going on for a while then?" She asked.

"A few months now. Since before you found out about the baby. I swear Andy I wouldn't have started it if I'd know there would be another child." He said, his voice sounded pained. "Andy, I love her."

"Ah." She said. "I see." And she did.

That explained everything. He was in love. The one thing Andy had never been able to give him.

It all made sense now.

"Well then. All the more reason for you to move out. Henry I'll be back at the flat around five. Do you think you'll have the time to get most of your things out by then?" She tried to sound professional. She even went so far as to use her 'board room'voice. It was just a shade shy of authoritative but it demanded obedience. It was the one she'd learned from her father, while she ran the company.

"I— Yes. That will be plenty of time." he sounded shocked by how cold she was being. Personally she didn't see the point in being openly volatile towards him. It certainly wouldn't help the divorce go smoothly if they became hateful towards one another.

"I took the liberty of setting up an appointment with our lawyers at 3pm Saturday."

Andy quickly went through her mental agenda. "Yes. That's good then."

"You aren't going to enforce the prenup, are you?" Henry dared to ask. Andy gapped at the phone in her hand.

He expected her to let him keep the part of her inheritance her father had created for her to share with her spouse? To continue running the company her father had created? Andy's heart hardened at his pretentious expectations.

How dare he expect her to forgive him so easily?

"Yes I most certainly am going to enforce the prenup Henry." She said flatly. She had to keep her cool. She'd learned that fighting fire with fire made more fire while fighting fire with ice put out the barest hint of a flame.

She could almost see Henry wince on the other end of the phone.

"Andy please, c'mon I—"

"No, Henry. You broke our agreement." She growled. "You violated the prenup and even worse than all that, you broke my trust. The prenup stands. Pick up your things today or I will put them outside the apartment and leave them there for anyone to take. Goodbye Henry."

"Andy! You can't—" She hung up, not wanting to hear him plead for her to be more lenient. He most certainly did not deserve it.

The sheer nerve of him! To expect her to relent and allow him to continue making money from her family's success after betraying her like he had! Love or no, he was sorely mistaken.

Miranda's words echoed through her mind then, _"Andrea, your husband is a fool if he doesn't see just how lucky, he is to have you for a wife."_

Maybe Miranda was right. Maybe he was a fool. She glared at the phone in her hand trying to stifle the unmitigated outrage she felt towards Henry's gal.

She sighed and put her dishes in the sink a little too roughly.

She was already dreading Saturday. She would have to call her lawyer to confirm the meeting and get material ready for the fight she'd hoped to avoid.

How could Henry be so stupid? Did he really believe she would soften and let him continue to profit from a family company that rightfully belonged her? He maybe be acting CEO but she was still the main shareholder, despite her lack of involvement for the past couple of years. She had continued to keep herself informed of the company's progress.

She may not want to run the damn thing but that didn't mean she'd watch her father's empire fall apart or even weaken. Not under her watch. Henry's father had merged his company to Andy's father's company after almost going bankrupt.

If Richard Sachs' hadn't bought Goldman and Co. as a favour to his long-time friend Charles Goldman, the company would have crashed and Henry's family would have lost everything. Andy would be damned if she watched Henry continue to profit from something he owned only in name after betraying her trust so blatantly. He was an employee, not an owner. It was time he learned the difference.

Andy checked the time on her phone. 10:23am. She should leave before Henry came to pick his stuff up. She showered and applied some basic makeup before turning to her walk in closet. She chose a cherry red Valentino button-up dress and a sharply cut white overcoat with a black fur trim around the collar*. She paired the look with some chic Gucci sunglasses and Jimmy Choo grey and red pointed heels. She grabbed her turquoise Kate Spade clutch, and called Mark, her driver. Andy refused to drive while pregnant if she could avoid it. She locked the door behind her as she left.

A few minutes later Andy was stepping into her town car, and was on the way to her gallery. She called Gisele from the car. "Hello, Gisele?"

"Yes, Andy?" the French woman replied immediately alert. Andy smirked.

"Yes, I'll be there in about 30 minutes or so. Can you have this month's report ready by the time I get there?"

"Yes Andy. It will be ready for you when you walk in the door." Gisele said. She sounded nervous. Good. She should be. For all Andy knew, Henry had slept with all her female staff members.

"I'll see you soon." Andy hung up.

Mark looked at her from the rear-view mirror. He said nothing. But Andy could tell he worried about her. Mark was nearing 60 now and he'd been driving her since she was a teenager still living with her father.

She was tempted to reassure him that she was fine, and for a moment she almost did. But she held back. He may have known her for a long time but he was still an employee. So instead of addressing his concerned glances, she turned to look out the window.

* * *

Andy was pleased with the report Gisele had given her as well as how the sales had gone. She'd sold 5 paintings in the last two weeks which was just fine by her.

It wasn't as though she really needed the money but it was always nice to hear that rich patrons appreciated her work enough to pay her asking prices.

Andy had informed her design team of the situation with Lily and that she no longer worked for her. She asked Gisele to find her possible replacements and call her when she'd narrowed the search down to three candidates that she though Andy might approve of.

She of course complied with Andy's demands and the whole team expressed sympathy for Andy's difficult situation with Lily and Henry.

Some were upset by the whole situation. Many had trouble believing Lily would do something like that, while others listened to Andy's explanation with a grim expression. Had they known? Andy couldn't help but wonder if they had noticed.

One of Andy's advertisement personnel in particular, Nate Anderson, who'd been close friends with Lily, was upset by her dismissal.

Andy assured him she would give Lily a reference letter despite the personal nature of the termination of her employment. She wasn't so cruel as to deprive the stupid woman of a job in the future. She just couldn't work with her anymore.

He seemed to be somewhat pacified by that. Andy had walked around the gallery and checked on all that needed checking and signed some forms and made a few calls to thank the buyers of her paintings. She'd spent about two hours there in total.

After that, she'd called Mark again. Once in the car she asked him to take her shopping for maternity clothes and other baby necessities. She had time to burn and she needed to do it while she felt she had the strength to look at baby things without collapsing into tears in public. He'd smiled and congratulated her belatedly on her pregnancy. Andy smiled tightly and thanked him for it.

She bought about six or seven different outfits from high end maternity wear retailers and Mark helped her by carrying her bags for her. Andy had protested that she could still handle a few clothing bags but he'd insisted and she'd relented.

When it came to buying a new crib and a few new pieces of furniture for the nursery she did have to take a few deep breaths and fought back tears. She decided to wait to buy baby clothes until she knew what gender the baby would be.

She would likely find out either this appointment or the next. She'd found out at 16 weeks last time that she was having a boy. But this time around was a bit different. They hadn't been able to tell on her last visit. The baby had been in a position where they couldn't see anything yet.

Andy and Mark walked out of the store with a few new pieces of furniture and a bunch of bags filled with high-end maternity wear.

As they crossed the automatic doors, Andy saw a mother with a baby carrier strapped around her torso. In the carrier there was a little boy. Andy flinched and felt as though someone had just slapped her. She stopped dead in her tracks and Mark nearly bumped into her.

"Miss Andy, are you alright?" Mark asked, after he'd righted himself. His expression was filled a concern Andy knew was meant kindly, but instead it bothered her for a reason she couldn't quite identify.

"Y-yes of course. I'm fine. Let's go."

Seeing babies was still very hard on Andy.

It was nearly 5 o'clock by the time they got back to her apartment. Andy saw a small truck and a few men putting boxes in it.

She saw Henry step out of the apartment, directing a man to put the box he was holding into the truck. Shit. Henry was still here. Just great.

"Mark, actually would you mind dropping me at the Starbucks a block over? I have a sudden craving for a green tea frappuccino." Andy said. She'd just thought of it. It seemed a good excuse as any she could come up with. She was not up to facing Henry just yet.

"Of course Miss Andy. It's no trouble at all. Should I circle the block till you are finished?"

"I'd appreciate it. And…"she hesitated, "Could you give me a call when Henry leaves?"

"Yes, Miss Andy." He replied, not looking away from the road as he drove to the Starbucks.

"Thank you Mark."

"You're very welcome Miss Andy."

* * *

It was six thirty when Andy finally walked in to her apartment with Mark behind her carrying most of the heavy things they'd bought.

She'd get the building's handyman to set up the furniture for her sometime after she'd decided on how to redecorate the room. She was going to have think of a colour theme. Maybe after the gender of the baby was established she'd have more ideas.

As if sensing that Andy was thinking about it, the baby kicked a few times. Andy gasped a bit and touched the spots where the baby was kicking. Yep. She could definitely feel it on her hand this time.

Her phone rang.

"Hello?"

"This is Emily Charlton calling for Miranda Priestly," said the Brit's voice on the other end of the phone, "I'd like to set up Miranda's appointments for this week?"

"Yes, what times work best for her?" Andy asked.

"She's free on Thursday at 5pm and on Sunday at 5:30pm."

"Sounds good to me."

"She'll arrive 15 minutes early." Emily reminded her.

"Yes, I'm aware. Thank you Emily. Was there anything else?"

"No." she said curtly.

"Have a nice evening." Andy said. She hung up before the redhead could reciprocate.

Well then, that was settled. Marina had set out a bowl of spinach linguini which had fried shrimp, artichokes, asparagus and red pepper mixed in. It was scrumptious and she told Marina so before she left. The middle aged Russian woman smiled and thanked her before leaving for the night.

Andy finished her meal and then went to see how different the bedroom looked without Henry's things in it.

Andy couldn't help but stare at the now empty parts of the bedroom. The closet had sections that were entirely empty now. Well. That was easily remedied. She hung up all her new outfits in her closet.

The bathroom was a bit bare and she disliked seeing the 'his and her' sinks…there was no longer a 'his' sink. Just two sinks in one bathroom.

Andy contemplated whether or not her calmness in the face of all the obvious empty spaces in what was now only her flat was normal or if the reality of the situation hadn't really hit her yet.

She thought it might be a bit of both.

Instead of letting her mind continuously think on it, she went to her studio and picked up her sketch pad. Andy did a few studies of Miranda. She drew Miranda's expressions, her eyes, her eyebrows, her mouth, her neck, her hands, her hips…Andy lingered on that last one, enjoying the image that kept playing over and over in her mind. Miranda in a pencil skirt, her hips swaying as she walked steadily away from Andy in six inch heels.

Oh yes, Andy could certainly appreciate all of Miranda. From the tips of her perfectly manicured toes to the ends of her snowy white locks, Andy appreciated the almost sharp kind of beauty Miranda represented. She was strong as steel, yet beautiful and delicate too.

She could slice a person's bluster apart with her words like a well sharpened knife through meat.

The way the corner of her mouth curved up into a predatory smile when she was satisfied with something or feeling smug was somehow endearing to Andy. And her eyes…Miranda's eyes could either freeze or melt a person's heart with their ever changing expressions. The lines at the edges of her mouth and the corners of her eyes only added to her beauty for Andy's artistic eyes.

For the first time Andy wondered about the age difference between her and Miranda and if the fact that she hadn't even thought about it till now made her strange. Miranda was almost exactly 22 years older than Andy.

Andy chuckled at herself. She hadn't even noticed it before now.

Andy did a quick google search on her phone to check when exactly Miranda's birthday was. The 28th of December Miranda would turn 50 this year. She was a Capricorn. Andy herself was a strange zodiac sign. She was born on the 21ist of December. That made her half Sagittarius half Capricorn. Or in other terms, a 'Sagicorn'. Andy snorted at her own silliness.

Andy was not a spiritual person in any way shape or form but she couldn't help but see the similarities between the personalities associated with the zodiacs she belonged to and her own personality.

The same apparently held true for Miranda.

Capricorns were notoriously well dressed, slow to trust and very reserved, but when someone managed to gain their trust, they would have a strong, intelligent friend. That seemed to fit Miranda to a 'T' in Andy's mind.

She reminisced about her first time seeing Miranda coming down the steps at the Benefit. Andy had immediately thought she was elegant and remarkably beautiful that evening. Andy could now appreciate the low décolleté of her velvet Valentino evening gown all the more since realising her budding attraction towards the woman. Had that really only been a few weeks ago?

It was still difficult to wrap her mind around her current situation and just how quickly everything had changed. In a matter of weeks, Andy's entire life had done a 180 degree flip. Or it felt like it had anyway.

Andy leaned back against the sturdy leather armchair she was seated in. She checked the time on her phone. Almost four hours had passed as Andy was drawing Miranda. It was past nine o'clock at night. Andy yawned. She really needed to figure out a way to get into a better sleep pattern.

She felt sleep prick at her eyes and decided to give sleep a chance. She only hoped she could avoid a repeat of last night. Memories were supposed to be good things to have, weren't they?

Andy wondered if that was really true. For her, she wasn't entirely sure that it was. Many of her best memories where intertwined with her worst, after all.

As Andy crawled into bed she was once again all too aware of the fact that she was alone in the bed. The baby began to move about, persistently. Andy sighed. If the baby kept that up for long, sleep might not be an option just yet.

She stood up to choose a book from the library on the wall. She picked a well-worn copy of the House of Spirits by Isabel Allende. Her fingers traced the old pages of a book she'd had since she was a teenager. It was one of her favourites. So many things had changed since she'd first read the book and yet the story held within these pages would never fade, never end nor change nor die. _'A fragile immortality via immovability.'_ She mused. Just as Andy's portraits, if treated properly for all time, would preserve the content it was intended to portray.

Speaking of portraits…She'd see Miranda for a sitting tomorrow. She went back to sit on the bed, book in hand.

_'What will 'happen' tomorrow?' _Andy wondered. She supposed something was likely to 'happen' again. The 'incidents', for lack of a better word, which brought them torturously close to things that were forbidden and that neither of them was truly ready to accept, much less entertain as actual possibilities, seemed to be common occurrence during their sessions.

She closed her eyes, one hand holding the book, the other hand on her stomach, feeling the movement of her child. For once, she allowed herself the luxury of imagining various possibilities for what tomorrow might bring.

She and Miranda were very different women in some aspects, but in others they were quite similar.

They both lived their lives performing a balancing act on the most fragile of tightropes. The line between despair and hope.

Now that Henry, her self-declared safety net, was officially gone, Andy was perilously close to tipping over the edge. Now, as to whether she would tip of the edge of hope or despair… that remained to be seen.

All that was left to do, was wait and see when and where she would fall.

Andy knew she would fall.

She wondered for a moment if she was insane not to simply jump off the line and let what happened afterwards, happen. To let go of everything and allow the darkness she had fought so hard to banish, to swallow her whole again as it had during those terrible months after Ethan's death. She'd lost her balance then…and she'd somehow regained it through painting.

It would be so easy to just let go once more… But then Miranda would be alone on the line.

No, Andy decided. If she was insane to try and find a balance between idealism and reality, between light and dark, then Miranda must also be just as insane. Being insane alone would certainly only be half as fun.

A _'folie à deux'_ situation. How fitting.

- To be continued-


	8. Part 8: The Calm Before The Storm

The Painter

Part 8: The Calm Before The Storm

Disclaimer: All legal and medical descriptions, terms and or other, may be inaccurate and has been altered to fit the needs of the story.

_"When you come out of the storm, you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about."_  
_― Haruki Murakami , Kafka on the Shore_

Andy glanced out the window as she painted and smiled to herself. It was a cloudy day, and some might consider it unpleasant but Andy loved this kind of weather. The sun weaved back and forth behind the clouds and the sky was indecisive shade of greyish blue, as though it couldn't quite decide if it was going to be sunny or rainy today.

She glanced back at her subject, sitting so gracefully in the arm chair before looking back at the canvas in front of her.

Andy dipped her brush into the paint she had just finished blending for the skin tone and with a deft movement shaped it into the cheek bone of Miranda's portrait.

The shape of the jaw had been established earlier during the session and the limits of the forehead and neck had begun to take shape. She glanced at her subject who was sitting still and silent as a statue in her armchair.

Andy took a moment to admire Miranda's appearance, noting the dark cherry hue of her lipstick and the outline of her sharp mouth, the pale, almost white, beige of her skin, and the ever present tiny lines at the corners of her mouth which assured Andy that she did indeed smile once in a while. And of course her eyes with all their blue and grey blended shades that as of yet Andy could not name as a color.

Miranda flicked a glance at her. "No music today?"

"Would you like me to put something on?" Andy asked, surprised. She had wondered if the music she'd put on last time had annoyed Miranda more than anything so she hadn't put any on this time. It seemed she'd been wrong.

Miranda nodded. It was true, it was very quiet today. Not even the sounds of the city bellow could cover the indomitable silence of the room. They had attempted conversation briefly, before that had fallen flat. Talking about 'safe' things, became boring very quickly.

From the moment Miranda had arrived on Andy's doorstep, she'd been quiet and cool. Something was bothering her. Or maybe Andy was the one who had caused her discomfort. She couldn't really tell. But she hadn't done anything out of the ordinary.

Andy put down her brush and went to put some music on.

Before she could talk herself out of it she asked, "Anything particular you feel like listening to?"

"Bach's suite for solo cello no.5 prelude in C minor by Yo-Yo Ma is quite enjoyable." Miranda said, this time turning to look at Andy as she spoke and then catching herself in her misstep, turned back approximately to where she had been.

"You like Yo-Yo Ma?" Andy asked smiling. Miranda nodded, barely moving her head, careful not to turn to look at Andy again, as she did so.

"Me too. I really love the depth he can put into the sound he pulls from the strings. It's such a rich and clear tone…flooding the senses as you listen…" Andy paused and realised she'd gotten carried away and said too much.

She blushed to her roots and she was sure she was noticeably pink, makeup or no. Miranda made no obvious sign that Andy's babbling had annoyed her. In fact, there was a small curve to the corner of her mouth now, as Andy looked at her closely.

Andy found her Yo-Yo Ma album and set the music to play. The soft deep tones of the beginning of the piece filled the room. Andy watched Miranda's shoulders relax almost imperceptibly.

Miranda was in a navy blue Armani suit today. It fit her like a glove. She wore a white button up blouse under the military jacket which she'd left the last couple of buttons near the top undone. This allowed for the occasional flash of cleavage and it was with great difficulty that Andy managed not to stare at anything but Miranda's face during the session.

After the piece Miranda had requested ended Andy asked, "Do mind if I let the whole album play?" Miranda shook her head. Andy almost sighed in relief. She'd been wracking her brains for the past the few minutes as to what she would put on next had Miranda said 'no'.

Miranda had moved out of place slightly to the left of where she should be as she had shaken her head.

Andy came forward and reached out to pose her again. She paused a few inches away from touching her.

"Yes." Miranda murmured answering the unspoken question, not looking Andy in the eye.

Andy's hands touched her shoulders first, pulling them a little bit to the left so it would be easier to tilt her head afterwards. She could feel the tension in them as she did so. Then slowly, cautiously, as she would do with a frightened animal, she slid her hand up to Miranda's jaw turning her face slightly back to where it had to be.

She was painfully beautiful in that instant, with the light touching her features at just the right angle to create that perfect moment which Andy strived to capture on the canvas. And her eyes…they were so full of unspoken emotion that Andy had to grit her teeth together to stop herself from asking her what she was thinking. Andy let her hand linger a moment longer than was truly appropriate. She couldn't help it. She longed to feel Miranda's skin against her own, even in such a chaste way.

Miranda sighed, the sound of it was barely audible, and she let her eyes close for the barest instant before opening them again. As though she too were indulging in Andy's touch…but that couldn't be true…could it?

Andy felt that sigh travel across her sending shivers down her spine. Oh God. It had just been half a second if that, but Andy couldn't deny that she found Miranda intensely beautiful.

She pulled her hand away slowly. She felt that if she moved to quickly Miranda might run from her, and never come back. It was becoming more and more difficult to restrain her outright desire for Miranda with each thing that 'happened.'

Miranda deliberately moved her head to look at Andy.

Andy's eyes met Miranda's and in that moment Miranda read the desire in them as clear as day. Miranda's mouth fell open and her eyes widened.

She was shocked. And she most certainly _knew._

_'Oh shit. Oh God. Oh no._ _She knows.' _Andy thought panicked. Andy could tell she was surprised, and almost alarmed— Had she truly felt nothing at all? Had Andy read too much into their sessions? It was entirely possible.

'_Fuck.'_ Andy thought_. 'What have I done?'_ She felt like such an _idiot_ for not having hid her longing better. God only knew what Miranda would do now.

"Miranda—" Andy tried to say, and then Miranda stood up abruptly, jarring the coffee table a bit as she moved. Andy flinched at the sound of the legs scrapping against the floor noisily.

"I should go." She said urgently. "I've just remembered something. Stephen wanted to have dinner tonight. It must have slipped my mind earlier." Miranda murmured, not looking Andy in the eye.

It was a blatant lie.

Andy's jaw dropped. She was running away. Miranda Priestly, known powerhouse and feared business woman was running away from her.

Miranda made to go towards the door of the studio. Andy caught her arm just as she passed besides her. Miranda gasped as Andy gripped her forearm, preventing her from fleeing.

"Miranda, please, don't go." Andy pleaded, trying not to show just how hurt she was by Miranda leaving like this. "I— I don't want anything from you. I— I don't expect anything…so please. Don't go."

_'Please don't leave_.' Andy thought, searching Miranda's face desperately.

It was the closest either of them had ever come to admitting that they felt anything for each other.

"Andrea._ Don't. Lie. To. Me._" Miranda growled. "Let anyone else lie to me, I don't care. But don't _you_ lie to me. You want something from me. You have since the moment we met at the Benefit." Miranda growled. Her cheeks were flushed and her expression bordering on outright anger.

Andy was stunned. How long had Miranda known this? How long had she kept coming back despite everything…what must she have though when Andy announced Henry and she were divorcing? Dear God. So much made sense now.

"Maybe that's true." Andy said after the moment of silence had passed. "But as I said. I expect nothing. So please. _Stay..._ Let me finish the painting."

They both knew they were no longer talking about her leaving just for the session. They were talking about never coming back to finish the painting. Because that was what Miranda had intended to do, Andy knew it based on sheer intuition. Andy could guess how she would go about it. Making up excuse after excuse to put off Andy's offers of sessions, until Andy got mad and stopped offering at all…

If they had been simply painter and subject, that could have worked. But, they were more than that. And they both knew it. Andy's hand slid down Miranda's arm and took her hand gently in her own. Miranda's fingers were trembling slightly. Miranda gasped and looked up from the ground she'd kept her eyes fixed on.

She was flushed and her eyes had a sort of watery sheen that appeared only if a person was upset. There was a strained set to her jaw and Andy watched as Miranda swallowed hard.

Had Andy upset Miranda? Was it her fault? Andy wanted to make those not-quite-tears go away by any means necessary.

"Miranda…" Andy breathed. She looked at Miranda who was now looking away from her. But she didn't pull her hand away. Why wasn't she pulling her hand away? Andy didn't know. Miranda's breath hitched. She still refused to look at Andy.

"I have to go." Miranda murmured again through tight lips.

"No you don't." Andy murmured.

"Oh, but I do have to Andrea." Miranda murmured and this time there was a measure of cynical humour in her voice. Some kind of irony that Andy had missed or couldn't understand. "If I didn't…"

"What?" Andy asked. "What would happen if you didn't leave?" She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer. If her guesses where anywhere near accurate, they wouldn't be what Andy wanted to hear.

"I have a husband." Miranda said, finally looking up at Andy, slicing through Andy's gentle gaze with her own dagger-like glare. "And my children. And my work. I could lose that." Andy felt like Miranda had just slapped her, bringing up her family and work. It was true but that didn't stop Andy from wanting her. She knew it was selfish. Terribly selfish. But no matter what Andy did, it seemed that Miranda was in her thoughts. It was an almost unhealthy attraction. She was helpless to fight against it and what was more, she didn't want to.

"Do you love him?" Something inside of Andy must truly be suicidal to dare ask such a question. But then this wasn't exactly a normal conversation either.

"No." She said through clenched teeth.

Andy felt immediately relieved. But that answer brought up a host of new questions that Andy hadn't even been aware were a possibility before now.

"Then why do you have to go?" Andy asked, confused.

Were they really having this conversation? Was Andy dreaming? She hopped she wasn't dreaming. She had to hold herself back from pinching herself to make sure.

"You don't understand. You _can't _understand.._._ I hope you never do." Miranda said with an unreadable meaning in her cold eyes. What did she mean? She squeezed Andy's hand in her own before pulling back and walking out the studio door without looking back.

Andy stood frozen, trying to process what had just happened for a second before snapping out of it and hurrying after Miranda. She caught up to her in the hall way. She had to make her stay. If she left now, she wouldn't come back. That would be unacceptable.

Miranda was about to turn around to tell her something, when Andy slipped on the hardwood floor. Miranda caught her in her arms trying to prevent her fall. But Andy was heavier than Miranda expected and they tumbled over onto the floor despite both their efforts.

Andy caught herself on her hands and knees on top of Miranda. Both women gasped. Andy and Miranda's faces were barely an inch apart.

To Andy's shock it was Miranda who closed the distance. Andy stood stock still as Miranda pressed her trembling lips against Andy's. Andy's mind went blank for a second. Miranda's lips were warm and soft, her lips barely moving against her own.

Miranda was kissing her. _Miranda_ was kissing her.

She brushed her mouth over Andy's just once more, so softly before pulling back.

Andy was sure she looked utterly and completely stunned.

"I should not have done that." Miranda murmured. Andy could tell she was pained by that fact. Her eyes were glazed and her breathing was uneven. Both women were blushing fiercely. Miranda's mouth was still so close to Andy's own and oh, how she wanted to lean in and return the favor.

She almost did but Miranda saw what she wanted to do and said, "No. Please don't. I—"

Miranda was begging her not to kiss her. Dear God, what had Andy done in a past life to deserve such torture? But she'd promised. She'd promised Miranda she wouldn't if touch her if Miranda asked her not to.

Andy wasn't sure she could keep her promise if they stayed so close to each other. And besides the floor was no place for a pregnant woman. Thank goodness Miranda had caught her and prevented them from falling too hard. It had barely felt like a fall at all. Andy shuddered to think of what could have happened if Miranda hadn't caught her. She stood up slowly and then offered her hand to Miranda who declined the offer and stood up slowly by herself.

"You should stop wearing heels." Miranda said once they were both standing.

Andy looked at her incredulously, this coming from the editor of a fashion magazine. Andy chuckled. Miranda pursed her lips. Oh. She was serious. Well she did have a point.

"Yeah, I probably should. It's been a while since I've done this. I guess I'm a bit rusty." Andy tried to joke.

Miranda went towards the closet and took out her own coat and put it on before turning back to look at Andy.

"What was his name? Your son?" Miranda surprised Andy by asking. Would this woman every stop surprising her? Andy was leaning towards the answer being 'no.'

"Ethan." She murmured. "His name was Ethan. He was a lovely child." She didn't know why she was telling Miranda this, nor did she know why Miranda was asking. Sheer curiosity or something else? Who knew? Certainly not Andy.

"How long has it been since…?"

"It was over two years ago now. Almost three now." Andy replied tersely.

Miranda sighed. Andy shut her eyes. Then she opened them.

Miranda was watching her closely, as though she were looking for something although Andy had no clue what that might be.

"We can't do this again." Miranda murmured.

"No. We _shouldn't_. That's not the same thing as we _can't_." Andy replied trying not appear to pathetically hopeful. She was certain she was failing miserably.

"Mmm," Miranda said, and added, "Isn't it? In any case I should go." "Will you come back? Sunday?" Andy asked. She was desperate to know the answer. Miranda paused in the open door frame and barely looked over her shoulder. "I don't know." She whispered. "Goodbye Andrea."

She left the apartment and swiftly headed down the corridor towards the elevator. Andy watched her go until she turned a corner and disappeared from her sight.

Then, Andy slowly shut the door and ground her teeth together.

The words, _'I don't know.'_ were still ringing in Andy's ears.

She hoped with every fiber of her being Miranda would return. Andy had no idea what she was getting herself into. Not a clue. She had no idea where this _thing_ could possibly go but she still had hope. She had to.

* * *

Andy held her breath as the cold cream smeared across her abdomen was smeared some more by the ultrasound machine. The image in black and white on the screen moved and Andy felt her nose burn with the tears she was holding back.

"It's a girl." The tech said smiling indulgently at Andy.

Andy had to consciously stop herself from sagging back into the chair with relief. As it was, she shut her eyes and let out a relieved sigh, before looking up and smiling back at the tech. A girl. Thank God. Andy wasn't sure what she would have done had it been another boy.

Surely the gender difference would prevent her from constantly comparing her children…Right? Surely…Andy frowned at her own thoughts. She hopped it would. She didn't want the past to affect this child's happiness. That was the last thing she wanted.

"Something wrong?" The tech asked, seeing her expression.

"No. I'm fine." Andy murmured. "Is that all for today?" They'd run some tests and her OBGYN had given her a basic update on what to expect and what she should be doing. She tried not to think of the last time she'd done this. Of course, she failed and the memories came anyways. When they told her and Henry that it would be a boy, when Henry had grinned at Andy with such a thrilled childish expression that Andy had to pinch his cheek for being such a kid. When they'd held their breaths, waiting to find out…oh God.

Andy covered her eyes with her hand for a second, fighting off the emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She couldn't afford to be emotional right now.

"Yes. Please make sure to set up your appointments at the reception before you go." The woman named Nancy said. "Oh, and would you like us to print the picture on the ultra sound?"

"Y-yes. Please." Andy managed. She still had Ethan's ultrasound picture in a frame in the nursery. Come to think of it, she really had to get on the renovations in the nursery before the baby arrived…before _she_ arrives. Andy supposed she should say, 'she' now that she knew it was a girl.

"I'll be right back with your picture for you." Nancy said still grinning widely. Did that woman ever stop smiling? Andy wondered, not very kindly. She bit back a chuckle. She placed a hand on her stomach and murmured, "A girl huh?" She smiled softly. "_A girl_." She murmured, awed by the prospect.

_'What will Henry say, when I tell him?' _Andy wondered. She could honestly say she had no clue. Henry could be predictable in most matters but, this was not 'most matters'. This was their second child. And it—_she,_ was a girl.

What would Miranda say? Andy supposed she might say any number of different things, depending on what kind of situation they were in when she found out.

If they were around others it would surely be some kind of boring congratulations, if they were alone, she might ask Andy what she was thinking about and if she was ok with the baby being a girl. Or she might just say something inane whether they were alone or not. Miranda was the most unpredictable person Andy had ever met.

* * *

The sound of cars rushing around on the asphalt outside the building could be heard, along with the telltale sounds of the city during a busy work days. Andy had been at the meeting with her lawyers since early this morning. It was now past noon and they were still arguing the finer points of their divorce issues.

"The prenup we both signed before committing to this marriage states that should either one cheat and the other wish for a divorce, it will be granted and the one who cheated will be removed from my father's will and have no further part in the company. You can keep all the money and holdings you currently have, except for what is still part of the company. But you know that already Henry." Andy said to him from across the boardroom table. "As for the child, you can have visitation rights but I will have sole custody"

Her lawyer, Kate Franklin, continued for her, "The security cameras in the building show Ms. Weiss coming and leaving at the times Andy has claimed she was there and it shows Ms. Weiss leaving clearly upset and _half dressed. _Surely you aren't going to deny what the camera clearly shows?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Lily and I were never at the apartment." Henry said, trying to give a charming smile to Andy and her lawyer and failing quite miserably. Andy suppressed a shudder. Her lawyer eyed her then.

"Oh really?" Kate said with a predatory smirk, "We have witnesses who claim to have seen you go in and out of the building, as well as people who can testify that you were not at work during that time, having claimed sudden illness and gone home. And Lily Weiss wasn't at the gallery either and we have witness to prove it. _At the same time. On the same day._ And the incriminating emails on _both_ your company email accounts certainly won't help your case."

Andy knew her lawyer was good at playing this game. She'd hoped Henry would go quietly, that he'd not drag out what had been coming for a long time now.

"So what? You still only have circumstantial evidence!" Henry's lawyer barked. He was clearly worried about his client now.

"Actually," Andy's lawyer's smirk widened further. She looked just like a shark who'd smelled blood and was going in for the kill, Andy mused. "The maid who cleaned the bedroom took the sheets Andy claims to have seen Mr. Goldman and Miss Weiss having sex on and put them in a plastic air tight bag. It is admissible as evidence. DNA should be able to confirm this. My client knew she'd be better to keep the physical evidence, just in case."

Henry gapped at her, disbelieving that she'd even be capable of thinking of such a thing.

"My father taught me how to play this game too Henry. Or did you forget that Iused to run the company before Ethan was born?" Andy murmured. Her eyes were hard as flint.

Andy watched, almost sadistically pleased, as Henry mashed his teeth together in an effort not to curse her out publicly for this.

"This meeting is over." Henry growled. Kate tried to protest but Andy put a hand on her forearm. Andy nodded. The older woman nodded back. Ok. It was over. For today. Andy was tired. The animosity in the room certainly wasn't good for the baby.

Henry stormed out of the room with his lawyer trailing behind him. The boardroom door slammed behind them.

"Hmph," Andy looked at her lawyer and said, "Well. I think that went well don't you?"

Andy's lawyer chuckled and shook her head at her client's unexpected backbone

Andy still had one or two cats in the bag, though she had pulled out the main guns. She stood up and picked up the papers she'd brought with her. Kate picked up her own case files and led the way out of the boardroom.

Andy and Kate walked into the elevator and watched as the doors dinged shut behind them.

"Make sure to get some serious protection for the witnesses. Thank them profusely for me will you? Oh and make sure to have that evidence somewhere far away and hidden where Henry's people won't be able to get to it. Like say, a public bank vault? Yes I think that might work. You know how this works by now don't you?" Andy said to her.

"Yes of course Andy. Don't worry. The firm will protect your interests above all else. You're paying us well enough that it's in our best interest." Kate said, suppressing another smirk.

Yes she was paying them a great deal of money but Andy thought it was best that Kate didn't know the other things which bound the firm to her and the company. Certain incriminating items of evidence which Andy and Goldman Sachs and co. was in possession of. Well, Andy supposed it was best to be protected on all fronts. Her father always said _'Be prepared for everything. Always plan for the worst.'_

She chuckled to herself. Kate looked at her curiously.

"Oh, nothing." Andy said still smiling.

She exited the elevator with Kate leading the way to the town car which would take her home. Kate said, "See you at the next meeting Mrs. Sachs Goldman."

"Kate, please I've known you since I was a teenager. Call me Andy."

"Alright. Andy. Take care of yourself." Kate said, with a hesitant smile. Andy could tell she'd surprised her. Kate had been the family lawyer for years now and still Andy knew Kate didn't really understand just how much she was, 'her father's daughter'.

Andy smiled back pleasantly and nodded.

Kate slid the town car's door shut. Andy sat quietly on the ride back to her apartment building.

She sighed. She felt the baby move and touched her stomach gently. Henry hadn't said anything about the child, but she knew him well enough to bet that he might try to take the child from her.

The baby squirmed again.

"Don't worry baby. Nobody is going to take you away from me." Andy murmured reassuringly. She was really quite tired out from the meeting. And Miranda had been on her mind for the last 24 hours straight. After what had happened during their last session…she really didn't know what would happen next.

She watched the buildings fly by as the car moved through the city. It was grey and cloudy again today, but it wasn't raining.

Andy knew this was just the calm before the storm.

-To be continued-


End file.
